


What do Demons want with Justice?

by LCNH1



Series: WWE Thrallverse [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17207966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCNH1/pseuds/LCNH1
Summary: Taking place from WM33 to TLC 2017, Finn Balor is given orders by the Undertaker to save three unwitting souls from the grasp of Cerberus and to close a stray portal to hell. He can't do it alone.(Dates in story tie to what episodes of RAW/205 and PPVs scenes take place)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illustration credit to @sinip759 (balor/Taker) and @Oniwanbashu (Neville/Ali)

 

4/2/2017

Mark Calaway – known to millions the world over as The Undertaker - had grown closer to freedom.

He would forever be the Son of Cerberus, heir to the gates of hell. The spectre of Death and the most intimidating of performers on either side of the guardrail.

He sat alone in the backstage area, glancing down at his withered, battered fists – three decades plus, punching people in the face and throwing them around on a whim. He clenched one in curiosity; a slight spark, a crackle of the purple eldritch energy that many considered part of the “show” that he had been a part of for so long. He could be merely spent from the battle. He wanted a “normal” life - or as normal as any half-demon could have.

He could no longer fight his sire alone. He had allies in mind: Roman Reigns, who “retired” him, and Finn Balor.

Roman was the company’s chosen future, their “archetype” superhero face of the company. Roman did have superhuman strength gifted in the “Royal” Samoan family lines, and now it will be amplified with this victory.

Finn had called himself a “Prince” before coming here. Calaway knew that Balor was an actual “King”.

“I know you can hear me, ‘Balor’,” Calaway said to no one in particular. But he knew as a half-demon his ears heard whispers of ghosts and his eyes could see through lies and deceit. He faintly smirked as a surprised pair of blue eyes opened in the shadow nearby.

A curious breeze stirred in those shadows, and Calaway caught the flick of long, thin tendrils crowning the head of a small humanoid hiding there. Its unnaturally black skin smooth, drawn tight over lean muscle and the edges of a giant maw that lazily hung open on the creature’s “chest”. The upper jaw traced along the “Chinline”, and the hint of a long tongue peeked between daggers of teeth that could bite through bones. The blue eyes blinked at Calaway, the maw stretching a bit as the creature tiptoed closer.

_So you see this? We are not surprised._

“More surprised how few understand it.”

_What does the Son of Cerberus want of the Demon King?_

“My sire still wants to invade the living world, regardless of your presence.”

_And why should I stop him? His Anger and Wrath, from what I have tasted from you, is a delicacy._

“Maybe I should ask Finn instead.”

 

__

 

_Finn is here as well. He asks the same questions._

“Don’t play games with me, Sin Eater.” Calaway stood, fists clenching. “Your power is enough to stop Cerberus’ bid to enter the living world. But there are others that are wrapped in his chains.”

_Others?_

“The Shield. They wore the crest of Cerberus when they were united. He may yet have them for his own. They’ve gained their own power when the Architect chose to break the Shield. Only Roman might understand it.”

_Again, why should we help you?_

“‘We’,” Calaway gestured to himself and Balor, “don’t need a demon war in the living world.”

 _We would win,_ the creature’s playful answer. Calaway growled.

“If the ‘Hounds of Justice’ are literal, then those three have already sealed their fate. Roman has power of his own and has taken mine as a trophy. Seth Rollins doesn’t understand what this is. Dean Ambrose’s eyes seem too ‘Open’.”

_Roman’s power is Family and he is full of Pride. Dean’s power is Chaos and his smile belies his Anger. Seth Rollins is Blind, and has a fine flavor of Envy AND Pride._

“Rollins is so Blind he likely did us all a favor by breaking up the Shield when he did. Now their individual power is greater than what Cerberus gave them that first night. If they were to reunite against my sire, they could sunder their connection to him.”

_And what can these ‘Hounds’ do against your sire that you cannot?_

“If they’re strong enough, and if last fall had any meaning, they could close the Gates for good. My sire would have no power over them as he had all those who worked for me over the years.”

_The Brood. The Ministry. The Acolytes._

“And now, the Shield. I did not give them this power. They might yet free themselves.”

_So again, what do you need of the Demon King?_

“My work is done here for now. If they cannot accomplish this on their own, your added power would be enough.”

_And what do you ask in return?_

“What would I have that you don't?”

Balor drooled eagerly. _Your Thrall._

“I gave it all to Roman.”

_Clever hound._

“You won't get much done looking like that.”

_Very well._

The demon's form wavered, the crown and maw vanishing under a much more normal skin. The blue eyes remained, but there stood “Finn”, wearing typical clothes. His guise that of a mild-mannered Irishman with close-cut hair and hint of a beard.  He absently tugged at his jacket, something he barely needed in the Florida weather. His small frame belied his actual power, tucked deep in the well-defined musculature of the form he had chosen. His gentle face and illuminating smile properly hid his “true” self from the rest of the human world so that he may walk among them, watching children smile in near-worship and women Lusted. The men stared in Envy. He mentally counted off those sins –Greed and Pride from those that supported him; Envy, Anger and Wrath from those who did not. Tasty Sins, they are.

“You've given me a tall task,” Finn spoke aloud. “And even if that DOES happen, will they truly be free?”

“Freedom doesn’t mean there will be no more war. Your work starts tomorrow.”

4/3/17

Oh, the cacophony. Oh, the din of the crowd.

Balor reclined in the rafters, soaking in a full ten minutes of Anger and Wrath from thousands angry at poor Prince Roman. The vitriol was nectar to him, ambrosia dipped in dark chocolate and seared in aged liquor. Why does he have to fix this? He’d never be hungry again if this is how the crowds reacted to him. It would be a shame to interrupt this! So tasty….

He did take a curious peek below to see how the Prince handled this rebellion. The dark-skinned son of Samoa paced the ring with forced arrogance, inciting the crowd with each raise of the microphone. Balor almost felt sorry for poor Roman, but this would be a mantle he would have to learn to carry from here on. No means to undo what was done. Calaway went home to his family, hopefully never to deal with the demons who brought him here.

“This is my yard, now,” Roman proclaimed, and the rebellion erupted anew. Finn pulled back to savor it, but there was something bittersweet to the moment. The statement was not Roman’s true feelings on the matter. Why wasn’t Roman proud of this? Retiring a legend (and freeing a demon from his chains) is a high honor.

Finn had heard the whispers that Callomah removed all the darkness from Shawn Michaels so that the Heartbreak Kid could retire in peace. Now Roman Reigns, descendant of royalty, was gifted a boost to his already superhuman Samoan strength by ending the career of the Son of Cerberus? Would there be a price to pay for this? Or was it something more?

Finn shrugged it off for the moment as he teleported himself back toward the locker rooms.

\--------------------------------------------

4/3/2017

“The high flying action of 205 Live,” Mustafa Ali repeated after hearing Michael Cole shilling it through one of the monitors backstage. His smile faded a little. “If only.”

Ali glanced over his shoulder a moment before rolling his shoulders a bit. Golden wings - only to the right eyes - unfurled and stretched before having to be jammed into his top, then jammed again into a windbreaker.

“Mindful where ye do that, lad,” growled a nearby voice. “Just because Calaway is gone doesn’t mean ye show that off.”

Ali jumped from the voice and the sting of a feather being pulled out. “How many of them know?” Ali protested. “And with so much going on, would they even notice? It’s not like I directly - ”

“They’ll notice - surprised no one saw you today.” The growl deeped as Neville, the current Cruiserweight champion strode from the shadows where he had been brooding. “Those wings don’t make you any more angel than mine make me who I am.”

“But you’re still hiding, Neville? Too proud to show off the belt?”

“Jealous that I have this?” Neville brandished the belt, the silvered plates glinting and reflecting the royal purple of the leather strap. “Are you ‘King’ of anything? You’re nothing but a soldier of a concept.”

“I am a Prince,” Ali reaffirmed. “I’ll defer to you, ‘King’, until that is on my shoulder.”

“Keep tellin yerself that. Find me when yer ready.”

\------------------------------------------------------

4/3/2017

Architect. Sellout.  Kingslayer.

Seth Rollins’ last 5 years had been the rollercoaster that others would have begged to ride. Who would believe that some Iowa farm boy would be the lean, mean athlete that he had become?

He’d traveled the world many times over before emerging on the largest of stages, getting the Undertaker-level debut at Survivor Series, albeit unannounced, with Dean Ambrose on one side and Roman Reigns on the other. He had helped them even before there was a Shield.

Despite their differences, they all had the same goal. Try and take over the business. They had escaped developmental and charged the stage. It only got crazier - the good crazier - from there.

They crashed countless shows. They threw everyone’s heroes and legends through tables. The mercenary money was good, when Paul Heyman would pay cash and Triple H paid in looking the other way for a while as they wreaked havoc. It made the road shorter when he shared a car with Dean and Roman.

He remembered the laughs. Dean’s mastery of just being crazy and up for just about anything. _Anything!_  Roman bailed them out of trouble with brute force, cold cash and a smile that he wouldn’t show anyone but his own brothers and his own family. A smile that could light up a small city for a week. Thousands of miles, hundreds of stories they can and can’t tell flooding through his mind, begging for a smile or even the slight crack of his crinkling cackle of a laugh. It almost happened.

Then he remembered that night. His hands twitched a bit at the thought of the chair in his hands when he had made up his mind that he needed to change direction. Whatever words Triple H used to talk him into it, he’d forgotten on purpose. But he will never forget the sound of the chair in his hands slamming across Roman’s back. He will not forget the flush of emotions on Dean’s face as his already-addled brain had to process what was done. He even remembered when those emotions all merged into unmitigated rage as he charged Seth, who could only defend himself and hope that he had made the right choice.

A title reign and an injury later brought clarity. Karma chose to start biting back, as Triple H changed his mind about his “golden boy”. Karma kept him from the Universal title, after he had mocked Finn Balor and his “Demon King” persona. Karma ripping his knee to shreds. Karma showing him how bad he screwed up.

He didn’t rehab like a madman to not come back and get that title. First he had some receipts to pass out. That previous evening, decked out in gold and silver armor, he burned the bridge, the base and the entire Authority’s “Castle” just to get his soul back. He didn’t need Triple H to make him successful, that time off proved it and that moment in the ring where he “Crowned” Triple H with his own finisher made every ounce of pain in the gym and the hospital worth it.

But damn, why is Karma still biting at him? He stormed to Gorilla, fists and jaw clenched. If he had to beat up Triple H’s new golden boy Kevin Owens AND the new enforcer Samoa Joe, he’ll do it. One-legged man in an asskicking contest is bad odds. Kurt wouldn’t find him a partner in time.

Sellouts back out. Kingslayers don’t. Bad knee or not, he had a job to do.

\------------------------------------

4/3/2017

“I bet the room’s still spinnin on ya, Jericho.”

“Don’t wanna hear it. I can’t go, okay?”

“I know, Lionheart. That’s why I’m here.”

Chris Jericho’s eyes snapped open at the uttering of an old nickname. Only old-school fans would bring that name up outside of the ring. Backstage, only those that were aware that Calaway’s “act” was never an act would bring that name up. He propped himself on his elbows, head indeed still spinning, and opened his eyes.

He nearly fell off the table when he saw Finn... and Balor. He could see the Irishman standing over him in concern, but he could also see the black and red guise of the “Demon King” ghosting over Finn’s body. Jericho blinked a few times, letting both images settle in.

“Calaway didn’t send me, if yer asking.” He savored Jericho’s further confusion.

“Finn? And what about Undertaker?”

“Long story, but you know at least half of it.”

“How did you - “

“He told me.”

“So why are you bringing THAT up??” Chris snapped, a little harsher than he wanted to. “Don’t you have someone else to haunt?”

“I might. But I just wanted you to know that if Calaway won’t thank you, I will. You’re giving me an ‘in’ for something that needs fixin. Do me the favor and pass along something for me.”

“What? to who? An autograph? A recommendation? A boot to the head?”

Finn considered those suggestions as well, but for another time. “Ambrose. He needs to be on this show if they’re keeping the shows separate.”

“Yeah….ok. Whatever. Wait, WHY?”

“Let’s just say just because Calaway’s gone doesn’t mean Cerberus went with him.”

“Then do ME the favor and go help Rollins. Kurt Angle’s not gonna get anyone to go out there this late in the show on no notice.”

Finn grinned twice at Jericho. _“Done.”_ and he vanished.

\----------------------------

4/3/2017

Seth couldn’t hear the jeering from Samoa Joe or Kevin Owens over the drumbeat of his own entrance music. Didn’t have to. They were salivating at the prospect of dismantling the Architect; Samoa Joe on orders and Owens because he still wanted a workout after kicking Jericho’s ass again.

Seth knew he was outnumbered and definitely outpowered. Samoa Joe, all 280 pounds of him, was nothing but muscle, agility and unabashed malice. Owens ran about 260 and could brawl with the best. Facing a Samoan or a Canadian is never an easy task, Seth knew that from experience. Both at once?

He’d have to rely on his speed, which was dampened already by his still-aching knee, target-wrapped in a heavy brace so that he didn’t exacerbate any damage he had done to it the night before. He guessed Owens would hold him down long enough for Samoa Joe to rip the brace off and beat him over the head with it.

“Where’s Chris??” Owens taunted. “Where’s your best friend??”

Rollins didn’t flinch. “I’ll take you both on, I don’t care!” In his mind, he wished that Roman had stuck around to help out, but the Big Dog had already called it a night to get an 8-hour drive home started. He fretted about Chris but nothing to be done there. Kurt hadn’t sent anyone. _This is how it’s gonna be? Karma wants to keep kicking my ass? Let’s go, bitch._

The lights in the arena blacked out, eliciting screams of surprise and anticipation from the already amped crowd. All three turned to the ramp, where white smoke billowed at the entranceway, blocking the crowd’s view of Finn to the rescue.

The smoke teased them. The music explained it to them. “BALOR CLUB” on the tron confirmed it for them.

Finn emerged through the smoke, tugging at his jacket. His eight long months were finally over. He’d hoped that the Anger and Wrath that had washed over him through the evening would be enough power for his first task, things he always had to do before approaching the ring.

Regaining his “Thrall”.

He deliberately worked the spell into his entrance. His epic music paced itself into a proper crescendo, and there he would raise his arms to the sky, using the flash of the pure white lights to “enthrall” everyone who lay eyes on him. Cast once, cast twice on the ramp. Soak in their cheers. Cast one last time at the corner post to their cheers and screams of worship and “love”.  The rush of their Idolatry for his return, the Lust of the women and the Envy of the men….. he had truly missed it. The overload left him breathless; THIS is why he chose not to lurk in the afterworld or fight others of his kind. THIS fuel that made his demon heart beat stronger. A rush like no other; if Sin could not sate him, he would settle for Thrall. He understood why the mortals wanted it and why those who could wield it would get it anyway they could.

Callomah had mastered the technique by casting for it as he slowly walked to the ring. Reputation alone would charge him to a point of near invincibility; that’s how the Streak began. Lesnar shattered that draw, and it had taken a toll. So much so that Callomah could not draw in what he needed and chose to bow out at the hands of Roman Reigns.

Finn deliberately deferred to Seth so that the Architect could show off his strategy to the Demon King. Enough to see that Seth truly wanted to follow a path of redemption despite all the Anger and Wrath cast at him by Triple H’s bodyguard and the United States champion. Enough that he let some of that power loose to ensure their victory.

Enough as well, when Seth showed the gratitude of raising Finn’s hand. He tacitly returned the favor by enthralling the audience once more, hoping some of that thrall would steer Seth Rollins’ way.

\--------------------

4/3/2017

Neville snarled at the monitor as he watched the Raw main event. “There! on the main stage, where WE belong! Why not us as well?!” he spat at Ali and pointed at the screen.

Ali took a step or two back, wings reflexively stirring. “He was brought in with a lot of fanfare and managed to get a good spot, which they kept warm for him when he got back from injury.”

“All the good it’s done for us,” he growled. “Cast aside as a sideshow - you should be angrier. We’re a footnote, a second thought - we should be on THAT stage as well. They pushed us away from Wrestlemania proper, and now we dance here and then compete for the dregs in their basements.”

“But you actually worked Wrestlemania and thralled a crowd of over 70,000 and no one else from 205 could? Or is it because you defended that title against me and not some unmotivated human? Are you STILL mad about that?”

“That ‘mortal’ Aries thinks himself royalty. That should make your blood boil as it has mine.”

Ali shook his head. “These people WANT to think these things, that’s what gives some of them the hope to continue. Or delusions to get away with things, I guess.”

“Still your heart protects them. You want them all coddled under yer wings, doncha?”

“If they could see why I would want to do that, they’ll stay. If they could see my wings, some would fall to their knees. I don’t want that.”

“Better they on their knees before Kings and Princes then laughing and pointing at us like Jesters. They’ll learn.”

\---------------------------

4/3/2017

"So how did that feel, 'Kingslayer'?"  
  
Seth glanced up from his meticulous packing of his gear to see Finn Balor poking his head in the locker room. His smirk held back a trademark chuckle as he gestured for Finn to come in while he finished with his gear.  
  
"How did what feel?" Seth repeated the question. "If you’re talking about last night, it feels good, it's another chapter closed in my career. Triple H can't hold anything over me anymore."

Finn nodded in satisfaction. “The knee holding up?”

“Oh yeah, it’s sore but I’m good. How about your shoulder?”

Finn rotated the shoulder for emphasis. “I’ll be alright. Tonight was good. I’m sure you’re glad that you broke a tie."  
  
"A tie?"  
  
"You're 2-1 against 'kings'," Finn explained. "Slaying Kings since last summer."  
  
Seth paused, then zipped up his gear bag. "Since last summer? No offense, brother, but bad shoulder or not you beat me fair and square."  
  
"A loss to the Demon King is nae to be ashamed of," Balor chuckled. "But you burned down the Roman Empire before that. You kicked him off 'your' throne-"  
  
Seth looked away. "For a couple of minutes, then Dean showed up....."  
  
"But Roman, he's Samoan royalty. Probably the closest thing to a King in that family right now. Sure Dean came after you, but you and I both know you deserved that. Closure, right? Dean's done asking for your head on a platter?"  
  
"He won a title last night. And Roman -" Seth looked toward the locker room door. "Wonder where his head's at now. He didn't look happy about last night. He didn't look satisfied."  
  
"Are YOU satisfied, bringing down the 'King of Kings'?"  
  
"Never satisfied til I'm back at the top. Doesn't matter if I'm fighting Kings, or Emperors, or Lunatics....” he waggled his fingers at Balor in mock horror. “or oooo,  Deeee-mons." Seth’s grin finally allowed him a bit of a laugh. Finn could tell Seth still didn’t understand or believe what he faced that past summer. Perhaps it’s better that way for now.  
  
Finn's smile flashed again. "I look forward to it. I got yer back if you need it.”

“Thanks, man.”

\--------------------------------------

4/4/2017

“And where were YOU, o Prince?” Neville demanded after watching Ali allowed himself to fall against the likes of Jack Gallagher, TJ Perkins and the reviled Austin Aries. Neville didn’t want another round with that self-centered mortal! “You want this place to thrive, yet you’re not to step up?”

Ali’s wing pushed Neville back. “First Gulak breathing down my neck telling me not to fly, then you can’t make up your mind if you want them to see me fly? This ‘King’ business is going straight to your head!”

“It’s not ego if it’s true! And THIS-” Neville shoved the Cruiserweight belt in Ali’s face - “Is my PROOF of Royalty. I thanked everyone out there - “

“With your left wing,” Ali finished. “Your ‘gratitude’ is nothing but  your -” Neville’s left wing ended that sentence.

“You’ll not speak to me that way! Either you step up with what you KNOW how to do, or let all these mortals walk on you. Is that what Angels do these days?”

Ali brought his hand down from his cheek, a trace of blood on his hand. “I don’t expect you to understand, and you can’t intimidate me otherwise. I’m NOT afraid of you, Neville.”

 

“I can tell, lad.” Neville’s eyes flickered as the belt began to glow and the lights began to fail. “But you will be. ALL of you will be.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This magic and thrall is in everyone, even in the least likely of people.
> 
> (illustrations courtesy of @sinip759. This reinforces Dean's narrative that he can see the Demon King while most others cannot.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a small miscommunication (or lack of communication on my part) regarding the illustration. I didn't clarify to the artist when this happened, so it should be HappyScaryDean(@Chibiwrestlers) and not current Mean Ambrose

4/10/2017

The buses covered a few blocks around the arena, each unique to the main eventers who have them.

Roman Reigns earned his two years ago. It had the expansion modules on it but even with those extended the bus felt cramped. How did Big Show deal with his? Bet he was bumping his head on the ceilings and bruising his elbows walking through it. Some of the boys considered the buses a home away from home. The big Samoan felt like he was in a suitcase with a bed and a shower.

He sat alone before showtime, knowing he had an interview with Michael Cole about what happened at Mania. What was there to talk about? The deed was done.

Closing his eyes to relax, his left hand reflexively gripped his right wrist, neither were taped or gloved. He replayed the match in his mind, scrutinizing each moment, every motion, every emotion. Despite the ending never changing, the scenarios continued to play out in a dark violet haze.

_You dwell too much and too hard on this._

Roman refused to open his eyes, he knew that voice.

_You knew the price when you let Cerberus call you to war. You knew the price facing me. You knew, Roman._

“I’m still here,” he whispered.

_You have the means to stand up to my sire. Why are you hesitating?_

“Not the right time.” He gripped his right wrist even tighter.

_That power can pierce souls and hearts. Open your eyes._

The command obeyed despite Calaway’s diminished thrall. Roman’s tattoo sleeve crackled with purplish energy, the same hue that he saw in his mind.

_That power is the key to a Kingdom. Some will not forgive what you’ve done._

Roman stonewalled. “Why are you telling me this?”

_That power will shatter the chains of Cerberus._

“Not like this. Not until it’s MY thrall. Not the Samoan thrall. Not ‘cousin Dwayne’s’ thrall. MY thrall!”

Both hands trembled, his left locked over his right wrist so tight his fingers numbed. The energy pulsed, purple, blue, red, purple, settling on a midnight blue. His dark eyes began to glow blue-gray as the energies arced through the sinews and symbols of what he had called his “armored” arm. The sheer defiance and feedback banished Calaway from his mind, leaving the energies to soak into his body. He released his wrist and straightened his right arm, the energies pulling back into the tattoo and fading for the moment.

“My… thrall… when … **I** … am… ready,” he exhaled. He thought he could hear laughter as he lost consciousness...

\---------------------

4/10/2017

“THE CHAMP IS HERE!!!”

Miz’s obnoxious interpretation of John Cena brought boos down upon his and Maryse’s head. Finn once again soaked in some of the Anger of the crowd, along with the Pride and Envy that Miz tended to exude when doing such an impersonation. Ah, mortals…..

He was hiding from the others tonight after Roman’s supernatural fit earlier in the day. Everyone who felt it were on edge, especially Neville. The “King of the Cruiserweights” had to be pushed back from Roman’s bus and warned about shouting about Thrall in the public areas. He expected more Anger from him as the show went on.

Finn found a comfortable shadow near the parking garage to see if anyone else would be arriving. He had recognized the scents and Sins of those who were already there; but the notice everyone was given, both brands had to be in the building that night in case “Something came up”.  Not everyone was there yet, or were still hiding in their buses(like Roman) until it was “safe” to come out without the ever-watching eyes of the fans.

His own blue eyes caught a speeding cab sliding sideways into the garage. The back door fell open and a man just fell out, clutching a ratty duffel bag and a white leather belt. The cab driver shouted some choice words before speeding off.

“KEEP THE FUCKING CHANGE!” the prone man shouted to the fleeing taxi.

This one, this was the man Finn was waiting for. Nothing but a rumpled pile of old clothing, messy hair, and the stench of sweat and day-old beer.

No time to warn the building - Dean Ambrose was here.

Dean staggered to his feet, tossing his duffel aside to brush off his jeans and straighten his leather jacket. He wasn’t late for the show, they started early on his clock. He’d gotten a “Where u @?” text from Roman that afternoon. Two hitchhikes and a cab later, he was there for his brother. He inspected the shirt, the jacket, the jeans, then casually rolled each shoulder forward as he sauntered to the discarded duffel and his Intercontinental title. “Hey Finn! Is that really Cena in the ring?”

So startled of being seen he stumbled out of the shadow. “How - “

Dean broke out a satisfied boyish smile at catching the Irishman. “Come on man, you do that all the time. Glad to see me?”

“Not the only one.” They shook hands and bumped shoulders. Finn playfully winced as Dean deliberately bumped the repaired one.  “That’s Miz out there if you want to do the show a favor.”

“On it!” Dean jogged off, then jogged back for his duffel. “Can you drop this someplace a little more private?” he asked Finn without breaking stride.

Finn smirked. “Aye. Go get em Dean.”

\--------------------------------

4/10/2017

_Is my heart too big for this business? Should I have stayed in Chicago to protect lives?_

Mustafa Ali sat alone with his thoughts, letting his right wing dangle off the road case that was his couch for the night. This was a strange thing he chose, running amongst mortals but not for the selfish reasons he sees in the hearts of many who were there. Most of the male wrestlers were there to prove something, same for most of the women. They want to be larger than life. Sometimes, just that dream makes them smile. Knowing that people still have these dreams made Ali smile.

He had come to inspire dreams in a “Market” where there were few that didn’t involve death or destruction. No angry words in the dreams short of taunts in battle and respect to both, win or lose. He made his adventure complicated, chose a name to raise eyebrows, chose a profession that would presume he’d be wearing fatigues and carrying weapons. If others of his kind followed, they would have made the disguise the easiest part.

The humans, the others - they’re here for success. They’re here to be immortalized in this bizarre little niche industry where you can have many names, tell thousands of stories, mesmerize millions of those who have learned of this theater and stunt show.

But for every dozen humans that walk these halls, it seems even those who ARE “larger than life” and didn’t need this stage to be so still came. Angels. Demons. Dragons. Ronin of their own kind, seeking purpose in this traveling circus. His “peers” are missing out on the challenge to not only inspire, but to change minds without a show of force or simply relying on thrall or presence.

He wanted to reach out to Roman after the cacophony of energies set off Neville again. How much DOES Roman “know”? If his family has been a part of all this for multiple generations, there HAD to be some connection to thrall. The Rock was walking, talking, no filter Thrall when he was at his best in the Attitude Era.

Was it Calaway’s power that caught so many eyes and ears? Was it that taint of Cerberus that still haunts those who walked by Undertaker’s side? Kane even dared take his struggle “public”, knowing that all the stories that preceded this reinforced the “story”.

_My story will be not only what I’ve done in the ring, but what I’ve done for others. If I change one life to walk away from violence and misconceptions, then my work is done._

He pulled his wing up as he heard someone approaching. Even if they COULD see it, discretion and all that.

“Ye shouldn’t leave something like that just out there for a free hand to reach,” Finn quipped as Ali turned to face him. “And what’s the beef with Neville?”

“It’s his beef, not mine. He hates that he’s not on the main show anymore while you are. He’s a big champion on the ‘small show’, so to speak.”

“Hard to choose between a title and the thrall on the mainstage. You should try it sometime.” Finn smirked impishly.

Ali didn’t take the bait. “I’m good where I am right now.”

“And doing that helps the others in the Cruiserweight division. Kinda noble of you.”

“Finn, I don’t question why you do things. I shouldn’t even talk to you, if either of us followed any ‘rules’.”

Finn shrugged. “No harm, no fight. And if Neville doesn’t like what he’s doing, he -”

Both wheeled to the direction of the ring. “Monitor,” Finn said simply.  Ali leapt off the road case and sprinted to find one.

Balor caught up with him quickly. “That WAS Neville, wasn’t it?”

“He’s not even wrestling, he’s at the commentary table. What’s the point of him ‘thralling’ when-”

Both slid to a stop at a monitor near the regular interview station, where the replays pieced together what had happened. Neville chose to cast his thrall on a match, changing the ending and bringing TJ Perkins to his side. Both frowned.

“You don’t thrall the performers,” Ali whispered. “He did it to TJ and Aries.”

“He hates Aries that much?”

“As ‘king of the cruiserweights’, he might be stepping out of bounds.”

\---------------------------------------

4/10/2017

Finn’s Mental checklist for the night:

-made sure Dean came to Raw, check;

-Made sure Seth wasn’t leaving Raw, check;

-hoping not to get in the middle of Ali and Neville locking horns, may have to;

-Getting his face bashed in by Jinder Mahal? Not on the list. And it stung.

That was proof enough that his power was still not fully restored. He finished the match with a few stars in his eyes. This was the last thing he needed - looking vulnerable after only being before the crowds for a week.

His music was interrupted before he could attempt one last “thrall” before he could go to the back. A blast of discordance, then silence and Darkness.

Finn growled to himself. “Legion,” he whispered, turning to the titantron.

Indeed, Bray Wyatt peered from under a leather hood, eyes glimmering from the faint light of the lantern off camera. He didn’t speak of Balor at first; at least, not what the fans heard. Wyatt told them of his future battle with Randy Orton in a House of Horrors match but would be watching Finn once he was done with Randy.

 _Demon King,_ Legion's voice echoed in Finn’s mind, _why do you seek the Hounds? What does a demon want with ‘justice’? There is none for us. Once I lay the Serpent to rest, I will show you that justice is not only blind, but biased against those Below. Callomah is no longer here to stop us. Our time is coming. Abandon that wild goose chase. Join me._

Wyatt knew. Finn seethed that Wyatt knew.

_And if that’s not enough to convince you, Balor, I still have a trump card. ♪ Baa Baa black sheep, have you any thrall? Yes sir, yessir, take it all…. ♪_

“Black sheep….?”

\-----------------------------------------------------

4/10/2017

Roman expected a hostile crowd. He expected Michael Cole to ask him stupid questions.

He didn’t expect a 385 pound Black Sheep to toss him all over backstage like a toy.

The only “Courtesy” Roman would get is not being blindsided. Braun Strowman charged in like a Mack Truck and ran him over. Repeatedly.

They tried to get Roman out on a stretcher. Strowman slung the stretcher off the loading ramp.

Roman didn’t remember much after that short of someone shouting something about “HE FLIPPED THE GODDAMN AMBULANCE!”

The rest was a dizzying din of Strowman’s angry roaring, sirens, voices… and that laugh.

The laugh multiplied, followed by … cheers?

Everything but his head hurt. Roman expected Dean to sneak beer into the hospital…..

\-----------------------------------

4/10/2017

“....and he dinae fight back!!”

Neville was howling with laughter as he watched the replays of Strowman’s extended assault on Roman Reigns. It was a wondrous sight, seeing the company cash cow bludgeoned and cast about like the other cruiserweights allowed themselves. He sat himself by his gear and only laughed harder at the “serious” commentary listing off the injuries Roman sustained.

Most of the other cruiserweights who had come to the show had left the room, uncomfortable with the humor Neville found in this. He hadn’t noticed. “Wait, wait…. here’s the best part!”

He turned the tv up just to hear the fan singalong of “na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye!” and all their jeering as the replays aired in the arena proper. He slapped his duffel bag in surrender. “It’s too much! It’s too much!” He stopped to watch some of the replay before laughing all over again.

“It WAS too much,” Finn barked at Neville as he stormed into the locker room, slamming the door for emphasis. “Wyatt set Strowman off somehow.”

“Wyatt? Bray Wyatt lost all HIS thrall to throw about when he lost the title! That was a joke as well!” He laughed anew. “Tis ALL a joke, maybe I spoke too soon of coming back to Raw!”

“Legion’s committed more than one crime tonight. If he thralled Strowman into this attack, then he made sure Roman didn’t have any thrall left afterward.”

“You’re worried about thrall when you see all that carnage? There’s enough Anger and Wrath in there to keep you sated for months!”

 _A week at best,_ Finn thought to himself. “Roman hardly fought back.”

“‘Hardly’!?” Neville repeated incredulously. “Try not at all! Where’s that proud Samoan warrior now? That’s not the same Roman who decided to flex his muscley thrall at us from his bus this afternoon. The crowd said he DESERVED this beat down, and I tend to agree!”

“If Roman Reigns was ‘showing off’,” Finn began with as much patience as he could muster, “He would have done that IN the arena. Pride is useless in front of a mirror, and so is thrall!”

“Had I done that you’d have me hanging from the rafters - “

“By your ankles?” Finn mocked.  “You did THAT last week!”

“Don’t be changin the subject!”

Finn pointed at the monitor as yet another replay aired. “Just don’t get any ideas from all that. I’ve got enough on my plate. Make yer peace with Ali and get on with actually acting like a ‘King’.”

“Peace, says the devil in disguise? You test my sense of humour!”

“Not a laughing matter anymore.”

\---------------------------------------------

4/10/2017

“.... then I kicked him out of my dumpster, he caught me changing my clothes.”

Finn snorted at how simple and deadpan Dean Ambrose was when he told a story. He suspected that almost all of them were true (or worse, downplayed to what really happened). He shook his head as Dean just watched him giggle at the prospect that Dean WOULD change clothes in a dumpster if they didn’t point out a locker room for him.

“Ok, seriously,” Finn managed between chuckles, “Why was Kalisto in there?”

“I heard Braun Strowman call him ‘garbage’ and growling something about Roman. Now whose fault was that? Braun flipped a fucking ambulance and he wants Roman to be here tonight? I mean, I could probably pull it off, haven’t done it from a FLIPPED ambulance yet. I wonder how hard it is to roll an ambulance?”

“Dean, you’ve shown up in working ambulances and driving paddy wagons,” Finn chortled. “Why not a wrecked ambulance? Thought you might have done that already.”

“Nah, people get really pissed off in the independents when you do stuff like that. Something about insurance. I’d just tell the cop I didn’t have my paperwork with me.”

Finn shook his head again, imagining this. Dean continued to ramble. “I mean, they don’t have you do any of that stuff, hell - you’re a ‘demon king’, you’ll just teleport everywhere. Why don’t you teleport around, anyway? Afraid you’d be stealing Wyatt’s gimmick?”

“I can only do that as the Demon King.”

“That’s what you are. Right now. I mean it. Right. Now.” Dean poked at Finn’s bicep. “You could teleport to the roof of the arena and just watch the world go by. I’m jealous! I’d have to sneak past maintenance-”

Finn showed off an unpainted, flesh  arm. “I’m not the Demon King right now.”

“Come on, man - I can see it, I bet everyone else can except that clueless scumbag Seth Rollins! You showed him - TWICE in one week! - and he still doesn’t believe it.”

Balor looked away, recalling that night. Triumphant at the end, as he told Seth that Monday before with nary a word. Having to change form twice in that short of time had drained most of his thrall and other energies away, leaving the rest in the ring. Seth had thrown him hard into the barricade and his shoulder completely fell apart. More energy lost as he tried to set it in place and continue. Not being able to raise the Universal title with that hand. Dean was still talking.

“Seriously, one of these days you’re gonna have to do a lot WORSE to him what he did to you.

"Go ahead, take that giant tongue of yours and slap him across the face with it!”

Finn snapped to as Dean’s hand snapped to Finn’s chest, and seized said giant tongue. Both froze.

 

“Uh oh, I forgot to ask, didn’t I?” Dean’s frustration melting to almost childlike guilt. “Don’t bite me, I don’t wanna catch any of your Demon Kingness…..”

Balor looked down in a mix of horror and fascination. Dean never struck him as one of the Others, just a human whose life was such a horror story he probably didn’t believe in the word “normal”. The grubby hand tasted like sweat and stale cheetos, that he expected. Dean’s actions WERE hard to read sometimes, and if Dean “knows” about such things, others might need to be warned. Ali had been a bit lax of late with his wings. Dean wasn’t there when Roman’s power erupted. He slowly drew the demon tongue away with Ambrose’s greasy grip, voice becoming very, very cold. _“How did you do that?”_ He growled through the maw.

“Do what? You leave that thing hanging out everywhere, this is a PG show!”

Balor was not amused. “What else do you ‘see’?”

“What else? I could tell you but you might not believe me… I mean, I watched Roman’s match and there was all kinds of energy flashing around, not just the stage or the lights. I saw him in the hospital last week and his right arm looked kinda weird, like there were bruises traced around his tattoos. I swatted his arm a couple of times as a rib and he didn’t flinch. One time I got a static pop out of it, that was kinda cool.”

Finn recalled all that as well. “But since you’ve been here. I mean, even before last week.”

“I’ve seen a lot of stuff, man. I did a lot of stuff, too.” Dean shrugged nonchalantly.

“Undertaker?” Finn almost said “Calaway”.

“Deadman, yeah, wow….. I had a tryout here about ten years ago - got to play one of the spooky druids with the torches at the Royal Rumble. He came in to talk to everybody before we started rehearsing, and I’m watching all the other guys just kinda…. freeze up while he’s explaining what we’re doing. He finished this little ‘chat’ and those guys were stuck in a trance until after we did his entrance.

 

"I got my mug on camera. Thought it was kinda weird, cause I mean the Undertaker - right there in front of you, all this experience and no one had the balls to ask him a question?”

Finn’s eyes widened. _Callomah thralled the extras? Then again, who’d have told him “no”?_

“I was gonna ask him when I got called up, but once you triple powerbomb the Undertaker, the last thing he’s gonna give you is advice.”

“So if I’m the ‘Demon King’, Dean, what are you then?”

The messy-haired man flashed a boyish grin, shrugging his shoulders as he wiped demon goop on his jacket sleeve. “I’m exactly who I’ve told everyone else. I’m Dean Ambrose.”

“And what does ‘Dean Ambrose’ do after doing something like that?”

“Oh yeah, excuse me while I go plant Miz’s face in the mat again.”

\------------------------

4/11/2017

Mustafa Ali decided to be a bit more on his best behavior when Finn passed the word along about what Dean said. _Are there other humans who can see us?_ He found the thought a little disconcerting but would be fascinated if someone who didn’t know spoke to him of it.

Neville apparently was behaving too; short of a thrall display at the end of 205 live for his new “protoge” TJ Perkins, that little scare might calm things down backstage. _I know it won’t last,_ he assured himself. _I’ll take any peace when I can get it._


	3. Chapter 3

4/17/2017

Bray Wyatt never loses his toys. 

Sure, his three followers were on their own now, but he Opened Their Eyes. To everything.

Those three were aware they had become a part of something special, something so deeply unifying that they would never stray far. They would be to his beck and call, whether to save him from danger or to cause chaos at all levels.

He was so proud of his Black Sheep. Roman literally thrown off television for a while, little brave Kalisto discarded, then using the Big Show to demolish the entire ring. All on live television, where all the other Sheep watch. 

Staring deep into his lantern, the smile crawled back on his face. “It’s so easy, some nights. They think that all I did was guide them, oh no… these boys, I found a better way to keep them loyal, keep them available as my weapons of war and chaos. I simply make the suggestion, then they erupt in crimson violence. There will be bodies and broken dreams left in that wake.”

The lantern slowly brightened as Wyatt conversed with it. “You taught me - I thought I knew everything, but you taught me - how thrall can be made into chains. Their beards hide the shiny collars, so I could say I have a Cerberus of my own.”

The lantern’s light intensified, darkening to red before extinguishing. Wyatt himself startled from the sudden change in light and dark, but spoke not another word as three pairs of red eyes opened around his trademark token.

“The Shield is still broken,” one voice began. “removing one will not end it.”

“All three must be gathered,” growled the second voice. “What will you do?”

“Your monster is impressive with his chaos,” the third mused. “Show us more.”

“There will be MUCH more in store for you. My Black Sheep is charged from the thrall he stole from Roman Reigns. He’ll take it from a few others, then maybe - just MAYBE - you’ll have that focus to come here and play with me.”

“The bloodstained symbol will open the door,” the three voices spoke in unison.

\------------------------------------------

4/17/2017

“Don’t look at me, man, I can’t explain Dean Ambrose either.”

Balor shrugged as he watched Chris Jericho don his trademark jacket and scarf. “I know he’s a bit loony, but isn’t anyone who wants to work in this business?”

Finn could hear Jericho’s reluctance. “Just want different eyes on it.”

“I thought I was done with all this supernatural bugaboo, man. That’s why I don’t stick around.”

“Not asking for help, just a second opinion.”

“Well if you can’t see it,” Jericho mockingly did the John Cena wave, “Then I probably can’t either. So what’s your supernatural stake in this?”

“Were you watching last year when I fought Seth Rollins?”

“Well yeah, you two put on an awesome match. Did Seth even understand what you were doing?”

“He still thinks it was a costume,” Finn beamed. 

“So if you really ARE a ‘Demon King’, how do you mess up your shoulder that bad?”

Finn glanced down at the scar. “Long story. Will you at least keep an eye to Dean before you go?”

“Not sure what you want me to do.”

“Let’s just say he’s got better ‘Eyes’ than I thought. You’ll see what I mean.”

\------------------------

4/17/2017

“Michael, you asked me earlier about this new alliance with TJ Perkins and Neville - I think it’s fantastic, it’s a symbiotic relationship.”

Mustafa Ali heard Corey’s voice on one of the monitors.  _ Did he really just say that?  _ Guessing it’s coincidence, though thralling announcers isn’t out of bounds. He watched and listened to the rest of the match, as Neville would slip TJ between him and Aries to make sure he did not lose to the upstart. Ali shook his head. Poor TJ, letting Neville creep into his mind like that. 

“They’re lucky that they get to work Sunday,” a nearby voice chimed in.

Ali took a slight step to the left as Kalisto landed next to him. “We should all be working that day, brah,” Kalisto complained.

“We will, somewhat. Just not at the Pay-per-view.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? I mean, 205 is a division we need so that we don’t just get thrown out there and get squashed.”

“Says the luchador who wants to face Braun Strowman, who’s easily twice your weight.”

“Nobody tosses me in la Basura!” Kalisto protested.

“Was Dean Ambrose really at the bottom of the dumpster?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that???” The little lucha threw his hands up in frustration, pacing for a moment before facing Ali again. “Look, I owe Big Show for fighting Braun last week. But Luchas fight their OWN battles. Doesn’t matter how big the opponent is!”

“You’re right. Only advice I can give is think on your feet because it’s easier than thinking on your back.”

“‘On my feet’? If there’s anything Rey Mysterio taught a Lucha, is that we’re stronger when nothing is touching the floor!” Kalisto hurried off.

Ali’s wing itched.  _ Yes, much stronger…... _

\--------------------------------------

4/17/2017

Finn winced when he heard the crunch of the dumpster crashing off the stage. Poor Kalisto. So blinded by his own Pride that he charged a giant, outsmarted it, then had to face its Anger and Wrath. 

“Feeling guilty that you got your fill of that?”

Balor knew that whisper. And that odd chuckle.

“Up and down and up and down and up and down,” Wyatt sang. “And all of that thrall scattered and broken in the crowd - THAT music warms me even more so.”

“Jealous that so many forgot you held a title, Bray?” Finn slowly turned to face the Swamp prophet, who was gesticulating with one hand as though playing with a yo-yo. “And how do you think you’ll fare against the Viper? He is the Serpent of Eden and sleeps on the thrall he steals.”

“He won’t sleep well this week, and won’t sleep at all on Sunday. Then my work with him will be done. Patience, little demon, I haven’t forgotten about you.”

“Where’s Roman?” 

“All in good time. He’ll be here on Sunday, no sense disappointing the children of their big strong hero, right? Perhaps he can overcome my little Black Sheep. We’ll see, now shall we?”

For an instant, Finn lost his temper. He lunged for Wyatt, only for the swamp prophet to teleport away.  _ Soon, little demon, soon. _

\-----------------------------------

4/17/2017

Pain. Fever. Delirium. Vertigo. Pain. 

The cycle didn’t stop. Roman growled, then coughed. His right fist slammed the wall, and his left shoulder protested. His ribs screamed. He couldn’t scream with them. He snarled as the throb from his ribs and shoulder would not subside. He’d refused pain meds, he wanted to tough it out. 

_ Thrall can heal wounds.  _

Great, now Calaway’s in his head again. How’d he get through a Samoan’s skull?

_ You didn’t fight back,  _ Calaway continued in disapproval.

Roman couldn’t - he’d never faced anyone that big AND that fast. He looked to his right shoulder, which pulsed with bluish-purple energy. He clenched his fist again and tried to “push” that energy across his body and dull the pain.  _ Bet this is how John Cena does it,  _ Roman guessed.

_ You won’t be ready for Strowman when you come back. _

“But I’m coming back,” Reigns growled. “I’m gonna go back and finish what HE started.” 

Roman closed his eyes to try to push the energies around again. There, the shoulder relaxed. His ribs still throbbed, but they were also sore from carrying a heavy heart. 

_ You had the power to stop it. You could have stopped Strowman. _

“Not…. that… time,” Roman wheezed. 

\-------------------------

4/24/2017

Finn had traveled the world for this business. He loved Japan, not for its polite culture, not for its insane wrestling styles, but the fact that no one asked questions.

Balor’s visage enough to keep them at bay, whispering “Gaijin”. Or was it “Kaiju?” He shook his head: “Kaiju” was Luke Gallows, “Gaijin” was Karl Anderson. A few who watched Finn work might say “obake” or “oni”. But tonight, it was more just hellos as Finn welcomed his good brothers backstage. He had lobbied (and perhaps thralled a little) to get his traveling friends to WWE, hopeful for the backup. They “Knew”, they “understood”, but they’d sworn an oath on the Bullet Club handshake that nothing would be said. Hugs and handshakes later, they wandered to the locker rooms proper, stopping to see if anything was on the whiteboard for the night.

“Hey, how about that, they’re actually gonna pay us tonight!” Gallows pointed toward a six-man tag for later in the show. He and Karl would be seconding Samoa Joe against Rollins, Enzo and Cass. 

Karl frowned at the matchup. “One of these guys is not like the others…..” he checked around the board for a spare marker. 

“They took em all,” Finn told his good brother. “Too many people doodling and crossing names off.”

“We gotta work this back around, bet you’re bored.”

Actually, Finn DID need to get involved with that match. Samoa Joe still had beef with Rollins and the last thing Finn needed were two Shield members on the shelf. Wyatt wouldn’t explain if Roman went home or had to stay in the hospital. He hadn’t sensed Roman all night, so he knew he wasn’t in the building. 

“Matter of fact, I AM bored,” Balor said with a brotherly smile. “Do me the favor and swat that little Jersey bug Enzo, that’ll get me out there.”

Karl raised an eyebrow.“Not Rollins?” 

“Nah, no heat there, let him be. If there’s beef you know I’ll handle it.”

“Planski in place then!” Gallows pinched his middle and ring fingers to his thumb,raising his index and pinkie finger in an all-too-familiar salute. “Let’s make tonight -”

“Too Sweet!” They cheered.

\-------------

4/24/2017

Seth felt relieved that Enzo wouldn’t be yammering in his ear through the match. He didn’t fully trust Big Cass, and worried that Finn interjected himself to ambush him. Wasn’t Samoa Joe enough? 

He could easily use Cass to keep Joe at bay. Finn’s familiarity with Gallows and Anderson might give them a strategy advantage. Seth just waited for the Karma hammer to swing again. 

Balor’s arrival wasn’t distraction enough, so strike one. Seth dove on Joe to disable him briefly while Cass kept Gallows occupied. Then Joe got his hands on Finn, strike two. Joe had the distinction of actually taking out “Demon King” Finn while they were still in NXT. 

“I THOUGHT I GOT RID OF YOU!!!” Joe bellowed to Finn before burying an elbow on him. Seth winced; that only made this situation worse. Finn’s two running buddies AND a guy who can beat Finn clean? He felt outnumbered again, white-knuckling the ropes and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Gallows charged the corner and booted Cass to the floor, leaving the Architect alone on the apron. Finn had dodged Gallows’ senton and rolled the wrong way.  _ Here it comes, the double-cross…… _

Finn rolled to his stomach, hand outstretched toward Rollins. Gallows had done the same but still remained too close to Balor to possibly prevent a tag or join up for a double-team. Seth couldn’t see Cass close by.  _ Karma’s gonna bite me again, isn’t it?  _ He still kept his hand out, begging for Finn to tag out.

The irishman lunged at the last second for Rollins’ outstretched hand. Relieved, he leapt over the rope and bulldozed Karl Anderson on his way to punching Samoa Joe off the apron. Up the ropes and over Karl’s head into a perfect Blockbuster to keep him down a moment. Rollins followed up with a Sling Blade, Cass negating Gallows with a big boot. Seth barely saw Cass as he threw Anderson out of the ring at Samoa Joe. Knowing that wouldn’t put Joe down long, Seth threw HIMSELF at them, sending them tumbling away. 

Rollins was still on his feet. Now the crowd was on their feet. The energies were flowing, Finn could sense it; these were energies that Seth Rollins hadn’t felt in almost three years. The farm boy nearly lost himself in the moment as he felt that energy coming to him, welcoming him, embracing him. Finn smirked as he got back to his feet.

_ He can feel it, even if he doesn’t know what “it” is. Embrace it, Rollins. _

Rollins snapped out of the trance to go back after Anderson. Before he could leap, Samoa Joe’s fists pummeled at the repaired knee. He mule-kicked backwards, mouthing off at the big man. Joe lunged again, only to be cut off by Finn’s flying dropkick.

“GO! FINISH IT!” Balor ordered Rollins.

It took seconds for Seth to get Anderson back under control, hooking the arms to finish him with a Pedigree.

_ Wait, why this? _

Seth hesitated. This was Triple H’s finisher. Something the Authority gave him. This wasn’t his move at all. He wasn’t Authority anymore; he didn’t need their money, he didn’t need their backing, he didn’t need their ANYTHING anymore.  The crowd quieted, seeing the Kingslayer pause. What would he do? He has the match won, does he need the Pedigree still?

The Architect imagined his Pedigree on Triple H at Wrestlemania. 

He didn’t need it anymore. 

He’d  used it on the one man who deserved it.

_ I’m SETH FREAKING ROLLINS and I FORGE MY OWN PATH!  _ Seth’s own voice erupted in his head. The Kingslayer improvised, kicking Anderson vertical and kneed him in the face. “THAT’S HOW IT’S DONE!” He declared as the referee counted three. 

The crowd exploded in celebration as Seth rolled to his feet, raising one hand to the crowd. Indeed, this revelation and new move thralled the crowd; Finn was just lucky enough to get a little bit of that.

He had pushed Seth further away from his Authority past. That was worth more than any thrall that would have come his way. 

\--------------------------------------

4/24/2017

Stumped. Just plain stumped.

Chris Jericho kept glancing at the bizarre jacket Dean Ambrose had given him to replace one of the LED jackets Dean destroyed some weeks back. It look like a first grader’s project - a plain gray suit coat with LED christmas lights stapled to it. Probably didn’t cost Dean $15 or take 15 minutes to make, never mind the $15,000 Dean owed him. Jericho admitted to himself that he was impressed, regardless. Impressed enough that Dean ended up OFF the List… for a full three minutes.

Now here he was, tagging with Dean Ambrose as a partner-less Miz protested and swiped at him.

“He’s not fighting,” Dean called back to Jericho. 

“He’s negotiating,” Jericho mock-whispered. Dean nodded and strode back over to Miz to let him continue pleading. 

Miz hoped to draw Dean in and offered a hand. Dean looked at the outstretched hand like it was a brand new thing to him; looking back at Miz himself, who continued to offer and request and beg Dean to just grasp his hand. Dean shrugged, unsure. The crowd mostly told Dean not to; Chris pointed to the crowd when Dean would look his way. He turned back to Miz, still puzzling the gesture.

“Shake. My. Hand.” Miz finally explained condescendingly. Dean still wouldn’t take it. 

“I don’t want to mess with your hand, I mean, you’re gonna need it when your tag team partner decides to show up -”

“I don’t have a tag team partner right now!” Miz was losing patience. “Are you gonna shake my hand or not?”

“What about your partner, man? I hope you didn’t pay him already.”

Jericho continued to watch, fixated, that Dean was winning a fight without throwing a punch. His hesitation, a shrug of the shoulder, a handwave to the crowd - everything to ignore Miz. And Miz HATED being ignored.

Miz hated it enough to bring his other hand up, slapping Ambrose. A hush washed over the crowd when Dean’s head snapped aside from the slap. Jericho swore he heard a second “snap” as his tag partner turned slowly back to Miz, eyes widening in a terrifying mix of anger, surprise and purpose. 

Miz paled. Dean was now in full attack mode. “Lunatic mode”, Jericho had heard people describe it. He’d faced it in small doses previously. Now he would get to see it up close and personal and thankfully to someone else. Miz panicked and fled the ring, Dean hot on his heels. Despite distractions, barricades, stolen moves and false bravado, Miz couldn’t keep Dean down.

Scarier still, Dean kept getting up and not slowing down. His eyes were slightly glazed but always focused on Miz through the beatdown and getting beaten up. Only when Ambrose remembered that this was a tag match did the fog clear and he tagged Jericho back in to finish things up.

Jericho hopped in and showboated on Miz, breaking out classic moves and waving to the crowd. He’d never tire of the cheers, even if the fans get tired cheering. If he can’t get it here, he’ll get it in concert. If he can’t get it there, he’ll keep looking. That burst he gets from the crowd beats any drug on the black and white markets. Drink it in, indeed.

Miz rolled away from Chris and started up the ramp. Partner or not, there were more important things on his calendar than being embarrassed. Jericho didn’t bother pursuing, content to listen to the crowd laugh and cheer.

Dean, however, wasn’t done. He hadn’t returned to the apron while Jericho was clowning around and apparently was still in full battle mode. He galloped up the ramp and ambushed Miz, subduing him long enough to get the announce table cleared. The announcers scattered with the flying cables, monitors and paperwork as Dean put the A-Lister on the table and joined him, a playful smirk finally returning to his face as he hooked one arm....

Static. Discordance. Darkness. Jericho startled as the arena went completely dark. The dirge replayed, and when the lights came up Dean didn’t have Miz anymore.

“Hello, Dean,” Bray Wyatt offered before kicking Ambrose off the table. He strode to his target, leering back at Jericho to make sure he watched as his poor tag partner slammed into the LED boards at the top of the ramp. That lured Chris to the top of the ramp where he was quickly double-teamed. 

“Take him back to the ring!” Wyatt ordered Miz, who obeyed without question. 

Jericho heard Miz speak up a few moments later, giving Lionheart some time to gather himself. He neutralized Miz with a Codebreaker only to be gathered by the returning Wyatt.

“Do not interfere,” Wyatt growled before planting Jericho face-first into the mat. He did the same for Miz.

_ This thrall is mine. I await you, Demon King. _


	4. Chapter 4

4/30/2017

If Finn had a demon tail, it would swing in frustration. 15 minutes into Payback and one ally is already walking away, but having the choice of fighting monsters or being United States Champion is likely an easier choice for Lionheart. Chris Jericho would go to Smackdown Live, costing Finn that extra pair of eyes he needed.

Oh, and Jericho never did fill him in on Ambrose. Finn couldn’t decide if that was Jericho’s or Wyatt’s fault.

“Wastin yer free time in this place? Maybe a shadow would be a better cradle.”

Neville.

Finn forced a smile. “Thought I’d see how Roman was doing after being off for a couple of weeks.”

The Cruiserweight champion sneered, slinging the Cruiserweight belt over his shoulder. “Yer daydreamin about being a champion where I’m LIVING it! You lay there growing fat on the Sins of the mortals here -”

Balor mock-belched. “And yer Pride is especially savory today. Even if it’s a little salty.”

“Austin Aries is NOT worthy of this stage! I’d sooner drag YOU out there so that Kings may do battle, but THEY - “ he pointed to the roaring crowd outside- “Deserve that even LESS.”

“Same song and dance every week. If you’re not happy here, why are you staying?”

“Because as their KING I have more work to accomplish!”

“Kings don’t have to thrall their subjects,” Finn accused.

“Would you rather I rend them from the inside with fear?”

“Think more of what Kings do for their Kingdoms before you decide that,” Balor warned. “There’s enough actual Royalty here that would question your methods.”

“Roman Reigns barely knows what to do with the thrall he has, less what he got from Undertaker. Is he ‘compensating’? You couldn’t smell any on his brother.”

“Do not speak of the dead!”

“Says the Demon who would feast on its soul!” 

Balor had heard enough. He lunged from his seat and tackled the Cruiserweight champion.  _ “DO NOT SPEAK OF THE DEAD OF THIS PLACE,” _ his otherworldly voice snarled.

His skin began to darken. Black and red tendrils laced out from his arms and shoulders, braiding across his “human” flesh to expose the blackness beneath. White daggers erupted on his chin and his chest, exposing a giant slathering maw drooling at the thought of a taste of fae blood.  _ “YOU KNOW NOTHING OF FEAR,” _ the maw roared.

Neville’s pale skin started graying, his eyes flashing white. “So the Demon King awakens to the truth?? How did his heart taste? Did ye SMILE when you reached for it?”

_ “SILENCE~!!” _ Balor’s maw demanded.  _ “I’ll try YOUR heart first, or should I leave it to be broken when you lose to Austin Aries this night?” _

Neville’s fists shimmered a purplish black before swinging at Balor’s head. The maw snapped at his fist, close enough to scrape the skin. The giant tongue snapped out to catch Neville’s wrist, only to be snagged by Neville’s other hand. He twisted the tongue and shot a bolt of dark energies through it, staggering the Demon King. 

“Jesus christ, get a room you two.” 

The two stopped in shock as a taped hand waved from another pile of road cases. “Sounds like bad fantasy porn over there. Don’t you have a match tonight, ‘champ’?”

“Mind yer business, Ambrose!” Neville spat as Balor pulled himself free. Dean peeked up from his perch, smirking.

“Wow, even LOOKS like bad fantasy porn. Dare you to go out like that.”

Finn looked to the Cruiserweight champion. Neville’s dark form slowly melted away. “First, Aries. But it seems even the Demon King has buttons to push.” He gathered his belt and strode to the ramp for his match.

Finn leapt for a shadow to cool down. Neville DID push a pretty shiny button, didn’t he? Roman was in the building, weeks off from a funeral. Finn did not attend the services for… obvious reasons. He had seen the placard aired before Smackdown Live and could only hope his brother had safe travels to his next destination. 

_ Catch your breath,  _ Finn thought to himself in musical irony.  _ These humans would never understand.  _

“Psst, Finn…. if you’re gonna show THAT off, at least bring a woman with you. We could have a Triple threat- “

“You’re married, Dean.”

“So?”

Finn facepalmed. 

“What, you guys have a vow of chastity or something? Seriously, I know some girls who would find whatever that was really, really hot… probably some guys, too.”

“Go away, Dean.”

“Just sayin’.”

_ “Go AWAY, Dean…..” _

\-----------------------------------------

5/1/2017

TJ Perkins just wanted back up the ladder. The first of the new Cruiserweight Era and the winner of the inaugural CruiserWeight Classic, he thought he’d either held it longer…. or at least held it again.

He was deciding between T-shirts with Mustafa Ali entered the Cruisers’ locker room. “You working tonight?”

“Not tonight, but I’m here just in case.” Ali shrugged as he put his gear bag on a bench. “That’s how I got in, so I’m going to show up whether they need me or not.”

“Waste of a drive if you ask me.” TJ pulled on one of his 8-bit shirts and started packing the others away.

“If I don’t work tonight, yeah it will be. But if I’m here, who knows what could happen? I could get added to a match, or maybe get a title shot.”  _ After all,  _ Ali thought to himself,  _ I came in as an alternate... _

“Uh uh,” TJ said with a little more energy. “Neville’s taken me under his wing. I’m next in line.”

Ali took that quite literally. “Is that so? He doesn’t make the matches, now does he?”

“Kurt Angle doesn’t, and Neville should be allowed to hand-pick who he faces.”

“He didn’t want to face Aries again, and you saw why.” Ali glanced over his shoulder. “They were out there for quite a while. Aries should be a walk in the park for our champ by now, shouldn’t he?”

TJ paused. It crossed his mind that he hadn’t been there to back up Neville; the King of the Cruiserweights wouldn’t have asked for it but would have appreciated or rewarded it. “He’d said Aries wasn’t on the ‘Neville level’.”

“Whatever that means. If that match was anything to go by, what else is Neville lying to you about?”

TJ didn’t have an answer for that. “If I were you, I’d ask him.” Ali gave a simple wave of his hand and hurried off to catering. 

Perkins decided he needed an audience with the King when he arrived.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

5/1/2017

“No knee brace tonight for the Kingslayer!” Rollins cheered himself as he tossed the brace into his gear bag. He was still riding high from tricking Samoa Joe and stealing a win at Payback, and his grin and chuckle were showing off in full force. 

The victories put spring in his step and ideas in his head. Since his return he hadn’t thought too hard about what his next move would be. He didn’t have a tag partner to chase that gold, Dean was Intercontinental Champion and probably not interested in facing him, leaving him the one red elephant not in the room.

The Universal title. 

He came so close last summer - Finn Balor had pulled out all the stops to keep him away from it, going so far as to invoke his Demon King persona, something Seth recalled mocking very loudly leading up to Summerslam that year. Twice. 

The first encounter was unnerving enough - the icy stare, the blackened skin, frantic writing up and down Finn’s arms. Finn didn’t even seem to recognize Seth as they fought, chasing him from the ring and leaving him a little shaken. He refused to admit that this “Demon King” was in his head, even on that Sunday morning when he’d had so little sleep, dreaming that this creature was pursuing him, watching him from the shadows, toying with him all the way up to his arrival at the arena. 

The match itself was surreal - Finn’s moves were faster, stronger, more focused. Even with the throw to the corner, Finn didn’t flinch. The shoulder was dangling awkwardly, but Finn kept coming. That scared the Architect even more; would Seth go that far? He’d sacrificed his body in the past for less. His knee wasn’t bothering him at the moment, so this time there won’t be that holding him back.

Time to aim even higher. Roman’s absence might be a mixed blessing. This might be Seth’s chance at the Universal title, all he had to do, he hoped, was ask.

\---------------------------------------------------

5/1/2017

“.........the line starts here.”

Finn Balor wasn’t about to allow Seth to get ahead of him on this Universal title picture. He reminded Rollins of last year’s Summerslam, and that he still hadn’t received his rematch for the title. It would he been a long standoff between them, but Finn had a secondary purpose to stall Rollins, as the opening rev of a chainsaw guitar interrupted the posturing.

“Brock, brockbrockbrock BROCK~!” Dean Ambrose lamented as he leaned on the ring ropes awkwardly. “You two sound like a couple of chickens!” Dean clambered in the ring, mic in one hand and title flapping around in the other.

“Look, I know some things about Brock Lesnar - he does what he wants, when he wants, and fights when he wants to, but honestly, that ain’t often. I think Raw should be more about FIGHTING champions and I’ll fight anyone, anytime, anyplace, anywhere! I mean, I’ve had fights I didn’t even know I had! I’ve had fights by accident - “

Seth could verify that. He also know Dean has had fights with Roman, and Dean would always be the one ending up in jail. Roman would pay for bail and the occasional damaged rental car. 

“If y’all gonna be talking about a title, you should be talking about THIS,” Dean raised the Intercontinental championship with pride. “THIS is the #1 belt on Monday night Raw and I’m itchin to get to some ACTION!” 

Seth and Finn looked at each other. Dean may be crazy, but he wasn’t wrong. Brock was likely still on vacation, sitting at home in Nowhere, Canada shooting elk from his front porch while on the phone with Paul Heyman. Finn really didn’t have an issue with either of the former Shield boys, and maybe the two of them getting some of their aggressions out of their system with a title match wouldn’t be too bad of an idea. Finn wanted in on the action, but perhaps his “mission” comes before championships.

Until Miz’s music played. Finn wasn’t about to step down; then again, who DOESN’T want to punch Miz in the mouth, even for a laugh?

“Those two haven’t earned anything and you’re an embarrassment to the Intercontinental championship!” Miz declared, pointing to Seth and Finn before accosting Dean. “I brought prestige to that belt! I defended it like a champion should defend it. Dean, you didn’t even bother to defend it last night at Payback!”

Dean made a kicking motion, suggesting what he should have done to Miz. 

“I made that belt relevant! There’s a reason why everyone hates me! It’s because I am the biggest threat on Mon-” 

**“SHUT UP~!!!”** Dean, Finn and Seth shouted the big mouth down in unison.

Dean stepped to the center of the ring.“Look, this is pretty confusing. Two things I do know - I am happy to beat up just about anybody. And,” Dean looked at everyone else. “Everyone wants to see Miz get beat up. So who wants to see Finn Balor beat up the Miz?” Cheers. “Who wants to see Seth Rollins beat up the Miz?” More cheers. “Okay, I’m gonna make some things happen, hold on.”

Finn watched, incredulously, as Dean took his cellphone out of his jeans pocket and made a phone call to Kurt Angle. “Hey, we’re live!” he protested off-mic.

“It’s ringing….”

Seth was just as puzzled. Miz stood frozen in disbelief. No one makes a phone call in the middle of the ring on a live show!

Except Dean, this was his second go at a call in the ring. At least this time he wasn’t refereeing a match. “Yo Kurt! Hey, Dean Ambrose…. what? Yeah, I’m in the ring!” he waved to the hard camera. “Foley gave me your number, is that ok..? well, anyway, I’ll make it quick…. “ he turned from everyone else and lowered the mic to talk.

“Hey, hey,” Seth called over to Dean. “What’re you doing?” 

Finn took that moment to sense about. No Thrall involved, Dean was just….  _ doing this.  _

Dean wandered back to the middle of the ring, putting his phone away. 

“So what’d he say?” Seth queried.

“Man, Kurt Angle was not happy that I had his phone number.” 

Not the answer Seth or Miz was looking for. Finn stifled a chuckle.

“But he did say something else - he said, and I quote, ‘tonight there’ll be a match. It’ll be the Miz, versus Seth Rollins, versus Finn Balor, in a triple threat match, #1 contender for the Intercontinental Championship! Oh it’s True, baby, it’s DAMN true!” Dean casually tossed his mic and left, the other three still a little stunned.

“You ok with this?” Finn finally asked Rollins.

“I’m down. Beating up Miz is good for you.”

\---------------------------------------------------

5/1/2017

_...and still you clutch onto your Thrall. _

Calaway was back in Roman’s head. The big Samoan was trying to rest. _ How do you think I got to the ambulance? I wasn’t gonna let Strowman throw me off that again. _

_ Bray Wyatt guided Strowman last night. You are aware of that. _

Roman wasn’t, but it made sense. Wyatt had cleared his calendar once he’d settled with Orton, and if he was gonna try something, it’d be to talk his way into the title picture. Braun was just a means.  _ I’m not the only one hurt. _

_ Braun Strowman won’t stay down for long. You did not finish the job. _

Given that Roman had survived the beatdown and walked to the ambulance despite internal injuries and irritating his shoulder, he thought it wasn’t a bad showing. He wondered if he owed the company money for denting the ring steps with his head.

_ Heal yourself,  _ Undertaker ordered. _ You cannot carry that Thrall forever. _

Roman reluctantly shuffled in bed, sending some more of those energies to the bad shoulder and ribs. No miracles here. He just had to be healthy enough to get in a car, a plane, and the locker room. The rest of those energies had to wait.

He wanted a crack at Wyatt. He’d settle for one of the backstage offices if he couldn’t get Wyatt in the ring.  _ Four walls, no windows, no distractions,  _ Roman imagined,  _ and a beer with Dean when I’m done. _

\-------------------------------------

5/1/2017

“....and he took the microphone from me, so -”

“Look Charly,” Kurt Angle interrupted. “Dean Ambrose is already in enough trouble with me for calling me while I was in a meeting. Hopefully one of the other Production Assistants can catch him. I’d take care of this myself, but I have to update the fans about Braun and Roman.”

Bray Wyatt sat nearby,  absently reaching for his lantern. “I’m sure the General Manager will have time to speak to me,” he whispered.

\----------------------------------------

5/1/2017

Finn overheard that whisper and frowned when Wyatt interrupted the General Manager. At least knowing he was in the building saved him the trouble of looking. He saw also that Wyatt had already recovered from his injuries from that House of Horrors match. Wyatt had warned him already, perhaps this little “introduction” was just a reminder to Finn and a warning to Kurt to stay clear of the carnage. 

Finn’s ear caught a bit of conversation between Dean and ….. Seth? He found a monitor to hear for himself.

“...should you win tonight, I’m sure Dean Ambrose would be looking forward to bouncing you around the ring for a bit, it’s been a while.” 

_ Dean doesn’t refer to himself in the third person…..  _ He found the monitor where Dean was mockingly thrusting a mic in Seth Rollins’ face.

“Seth Rollins has learned some new tricks,” Seth deadpanned, already tired of the game. “Maybe Dean Ambrose will be surprised.”

Dean didn’t miss a beat. “Nah - Dean got surprised once. Can’t happen again.” 

Finn sighed. Maybe not the best time to try to pull these two together.

\-----------------------------------------

5/1/2017

Ali’s alarm at seeing TJ kneebarring Aries post-match subsided at the commentary’s explanation. “Neville said ‘solve the problem’, not ‘win the match’!” Booker had explained.

Ali sighed. Either he didn’t get completely through to TJ, or Neville’s thrall was enough to keep the kid convinced. Not that Aries didn’t deserve an extra kneebar. 

Neville could guess Ali’s opinion on the matter. “You disapprove? Not that it matters.”

“Only a little less than when you and Finn Balor started fighting backstage last night. Who needs to warn who about thrall, again?”

The King of the Cruisers reached for Ali’s back, who sidestepped. “What gets the job done,” Neville growled. “And what keeps this in my hands.” he slung the Cruiserweight belt over his shoulder. “As for TJ… he’s a nice little piss boy to have along. I’ll beat the piss out of him when he gets too big for his 8-bit gaga. He is no threat to me.”

“You’d better hope so.”

\---------------------------------

5/1/2017

Finn strode to the ring for the Triple threat, Wyatt still on his mind. He needed to focus on what to do with Seth and Dean in the process… or should he just win the match and chase Miz? All this Pride was keeping him sated, but it had been a rough couple of weeks.

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “Please welcome my guest at this time, Finn Balor!” 

How does Dean  _ do  _ that? No one took the mic from him? Or does he keep stealing others after they catch him?

“Finn, you’re moments away from the Triple threat match and the opportunity for the Intercontinental Championship. This is the biggest match you’ve had since you returned. So, are you nervous?”

Finn was a little unnerved that Dean snuck up on him, but not for the match. “Nervous?” Finn repeated. “Dean, I EAT nerves, and I produce results. I wanna win this match, then the Intercontinental Title will be coming to Balor Club!” 

_ Belts are good for Thrall, too,  _ Balor added in his mind.

Dean shrugged. “Okay. Well in that case, Dean Ambrose has only one thing left to say.” 

Dean casually turned away from Finn and reached for some of the food left over from the crew catering.

“For the love of God, man, EAT A CARB!” Dean demanded indignantly, holding up an iced donut with sprinkles. “There’s, like, a vein in there! It’s not right!”

_ Gluttony? That’s rare.  _ Finn took the donut and had a sizeable bite of it before handing it back to Dean. 

“See?” Ambrose nodded in approval. “It’s good for you.”

Finn was well on his way to the ramp. Dean wasn’t going to let the donut go to waste.

\-----------------------------------------------

5/1/2017

_ Karma is a bitch named Samoa Joe,  _ Seth thought through the cobwebs from taking a uranage on the floor. The mats more a formality than safety. He had Miz dead to rights, too.

He could hear the crowd getting louder. Would Finn take Miz out? Rollins could barely think; actual movement fell lower on the list.

The lights went out in the arena. He could still hear the crowd, so he knew he was conscious. When the lights came on, he heard screams. He propped up on an elbow in time to see Bray Wyatt topple Finn from the top rope. 

His thoughts turned back to Samoa Joe, as the lights went out again...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems the magic is everywhere, and not always in the best of hands

5/8/2017

Bray Wyatt had broken toys. He wasn’t sad at all; this meant that he could not be broken. 

He admired his Black Sheep as he marched indignantly to the ring. Apparently a little bug was still bothering him, nothing as strong as an ambulance door or the wrath of an injured Roman Reigns. Strowman’s arm in a sling, yet Dean Ambrose (acting General Manager with Miz for a night)  insisted he compete. Balor had been distracted by the gallons of Pride oozing from the Miz and Dean, so he could continue to use his Black Sheep to full effect.

Jericho wasn’t around to interfere backstage. Seth Rollins blind to what’s really going on around him. And Roman? What could he do? 

_ Anyone but Roman,  _ he whispered into Braun’s “ear”.  _ Wherever he may appear, make him disappear. Until he remains disappeared, then your path is clear to the Beast that we all loathe as he hides the greatest prize, the Bloodsoaked Symbol, from those who are more worthy of it.  _

_ This tiny bug is for yours to keep your senses sharp. Savor it, my Black Sheep, as I savor the thrall I take from you. _

\---------------------------------------------------

5/8/2017

Finn may have been distracted by all that Pride, but it was a faint uptick in Wrath that had whetted his appetite. Thankfully finishing early to enjoy such a meal with Dean Ambrose and Miz clashing their egos against each other, his curiosity otherwise piqued at the decision to put the already-injured Braun Strowman in the ring against Kalisto. That wasn’t the Wrath he “tasted”. 

It wasn’t Neville’s Anger or Wrath, either - the King of the Cruiserweights would sit with commentary to watch TJ and Jack Gallagher square off later in the evening. No, this was a very “thick” Anger and Wrath. Maybe Samoa Joe was still angry. Maybe Seth Rollins wanted vengeance from being eliminated during the Triple Threat the previous week.  _ Why am I trying to stop this, again?  _ Balor soaked it all in.

He spotted Dean in the makeshift office, once again on the phone. He stopped to listen.

“Yeah? … oh, no, I got him going to the ring tonight, you want him? … yeah, Kalisto’s the only distraction I could find. Sure! … yeah, the East garage this time, I’ll open up a spot for you. Just show up ready and Jimmy’ll get you there.”

Dean HAD to be talking to Roman. No one else dared approach the now-appointed “Monster Among Men”, even with a bad arm from their previous go-round. 

“What, me? Yeah, Miz thought I was bored and put me against Wyatt. No, I ain’t worried. I got this, man, you do you and let me do me.”

Finn definitely needed to see that.

\-------------------------------------

5/8/2017

Ali had made the trip to keep an eye on Neville, but the King had outsmarted him by taking position at the commentary table to make sure he kept TJ properly thralled. His wings itched again, still sore from being under him at the hands and ground game of Drew Gulak. Too many distractions at 205, and even more so on Raw. He had to focus.

“Just let em hang down, Ali, Neville’s not watching you.”

Ali didn’t recognize the voice at first and hesitated.

“I’ve been around too long to not believe,” the voice continued. “That’s why I keep trying to explain it to the guys who can’t ‘See’ it.”

Mustafa Ali finally turned around to see Brian Kendrick leaning back on a chair, a roster book in hand. “I could tell them all day what’s really going on back here.” He casually flipped through the roster book, picking out each name. “You and Neville. Finn Balor. Wyatt. Kane. Daniel Bryan. Maybe Roman Reigns, maybe Dean Ambrose. They’re all playing their own mind games, especially now that Calaway’s walked away.”

“You were here ten years ago,” Ali queried. “Did Calaway ‘tell’ you or ‘show’ you?”

“Not that simple.” Kendrick rocked his chair forward and stood in one smooth motion. “Back then, little fresh-faced Brian Kendrick believed that this magical world was a manufactured thing, stories told by big athletic men who needed to play out some overt physical dick-waving contest. When I got here, the first wing around me was the wing of a guy named Sean O’Haire.”

Ali recognized the name- O’Haire worked for WWE briefly but was better known in WCW when he was tagging with Chuck Palumbo. 

“O’haire put ideas in my head. He tried to do that to everyone, it would have been music to a Sin Eater like Balor’s ears. O’haire wanted anarchy, he wanted people breaking the rules. He talked me into doing some really stupid stuff - “

“Wait,” Ali interrupted. “You called Finn Balor a ‘Sin Eater’. How do you know that?” 

“I just know these things. Undertaker Forced my Eyes Open. It’s a cross I don’t like to bear.” He looked away. “I don’t want sympathy or empathy from you, Ali. If you’re going to do anything, I hope you have a flaming sword to stab my eyes or a trumpet to close my ears from all this other… this ‘world’ that half of 205 is oblivious to and the other half just points and laughs at. Does anyone on the main roster see it? Did Calaway levy a curse this maddening on anyone else?”

Ali did not know that answer. “If they know, they don’t speak of it.”

“Just a word of advice,” Kendrick rambled. “Don’t let Gulak clip those wings of yours. You fly if you’re meant to. He just wants you on the ground where someone as normal as he is can take you out.”

It was Ali’s turn to look away. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“There’s a lot going on, Ali. What I see of it bothers me and I can’t look away.”

“Don’t close your eyes. I may need them.”

\--------------------------------------------

5/15/2017

“...and Braun Strowman may be out for as long as six months with his shattered elbow,” Michael Cole announced to the TV audience.

_ Six weeks then,  _ Finn calculated. Wyatt wouldn’t let his Black Sheep be away that long if he can help it. That means Wyatt himself will have to get his eldritch hands dirty. 

The brawl that night was satisfying; he’d managed to steer Roman and Seth to watch each others’ backs against Joe and Wyatt while taking a few moments to soak in their Pride. He’d face Roman later that night, and he has Roman’s number (A Roman Numeral?) one-on-one. Seth would be facing Wyatt, but the threat of Samoa Joe would likely distract him anew.

Finn had faced Roman before, and was used to being the smaller dog in the fight. But there would be more to this battle; Finn would use this match as an opportunity to figure out how much Reigns “knows” and what can be done to steer him.

Despite Roman’s bad left shoulder he still threw Finn around the ring with ease. Balor took a moment to stretch himself back out before facing the Big Dog again. “That all you got?” he taunted.

“You want more? You want worse?” Roman’s baritone voice retorted. Finn refused to back down.

“I want to know what the Big Dog is really made of. Show me.” Finn spread his arms in challenge, allowing a twinge of his energies flare. Roman blinked. Finn had his attention.

Roman didn’t know just quite  _ what _ he sensed, but he recalled underestimating Finn in the past that cost him a chance at the Universal championship. He leaned into his punches as best as his body allowed, shoulder still aching as it was not fully restored.

Roman steeled as Finn charged him in the corner with a chop. He froze; the Samoan didn’t even budge. Roman flipped his hair back and stared straight into surprised blue eyes. 

“You don’t want it bad enough,” he growled before shoving Balor away. He charged, but Finn deftly escaped the path, hearing a loud  _ CRACK  _ as Roman’s bad shoulder slammed into the ringpost. With Roman on the floor, Finn could administer more punishment and dropkicked him into the guardwalls. He backed up for a second attack only to have Roman recover and slam Finn into the same ringpost, collapsing to the floor as well.

Roman hauled Finn back into the ring only to slam him again into the ringpost with his Driveby Dropkick. He dragged the Irishman further into the ring to cover. Finn decided on more than just kicking out.

_ Roman, don’t hold back against me. I know Calaway won’t have that.  _ Finn kicked out of the pin.

Reigns rolled to his stomach, staring at Finn. “Did you say somethin?”

“King to King,” Finn whispered. “Calaway’s power is already yours.” 

“What do you know about it?” Roman pushed to one knee, flipping his black mane of hair back to lock eyes.

_ It’s the same power that will rid us of Cerberus,  _ Finn projected, allowing Roman a glimpse of his true form.  _ Calaway does not want to be condemned to his sire’s post, and neither would you. _

Roman shoved Finn into the corner. “Get out of my head!”

“Then take it to heart,” Finn spoke. “That power, your brothers. Wyatt’s got a plan. He fought Dean. He fights Seth later tonight.”

“Wyatt doesn’t have any power over me!” Roman protested as he finally caught Finn in a spinning powerbomb. “And Strowman’s out. There is no ‘plan’.”

_ The Demon King’s words are a warning,  _ Calaway interjected.  _ Strowman may not return alone. _

Reigns covered his eyes once Finn kicked out again.  _ Seth and Dean got their own paths,  _ Roman thought as hard as he could.  _ Brock’s my goal, now. _

“Can’t focus on someone who’s not here.”

“Then I’m focusing on you!” Roman floored Finn with a Superman punch. Finn refused to stay down.

_ Wyatt. Cerberus. Only a Shield can stop him,  _ Balor’s mind repeated a few times. 

Roman tried to block out the mantra but the distraction threw his timing. Balor almost put Reigns in place for a Coup de Gras, only to be shoved off the turnbuckle. Balor barely returned to his feet before being Speared into the mat, left breathless as Roman finally covered for the win.

_ Calaway’s warned you. I’m warning you,  _ Finn pressed. 

Roman just glared from the corner. He had kept his composure through the match despite having two others trying to drill through that hard head with warnings and imagery. A faint smile of satisfaction crossed Finn’s face. Roman knew. Roman understood. 

\-------------------------------------------------

5/15/2017

“Mission accomplished,” Wyatt chuckled into his lantern. 

The show was over for the night; Wyatt had ended the event by planting both Seth Rollins and Samoa Joe with Sister Abagail’s kiss. He’d managed to do the same to Dean the week before. He’d completed a phase of his plan against the members of the Shield; as he slammed them face-first into the mat, he fastened a “tether” to them. Not one as thick or as firm as he had on Braun, Harper or Rowan; just enough that perhaps Cerberus himself could start drawing the power he needed. 

“It’s easy when they’re all so distracted,” he continued. “Finn Balor - too busy talking to Roman! The cruisers - they have their own problems to even be looking our way. Dean Ambrose… what of Dean Ambrose? What did you break in that mind of his? From little boy to wrecking machine in seconds. I need another good toy like that.”

The lantern’s faint glow brought three sets of eyes into focus. 

“He came to us broken,” one voice informed.

“Breaking him further is not needed,” the second affirmed.

“He works for us now,” the third voice confirmed. “Now you must collar their largest, Roman Reigns.”

“There’ll be time and place for that,” Wyatt reassured them. “Extreme Rules, I’ll have that chance. If I can catch him sooner, then I hope you’d have a reward in mind…”

“Rewards are only for them under our control,” the first voice clarified.

“Results are what we request,” the second voice continued.

“Prove Victory,” the third voice faded with the light of the lantern.

\-------------------------------------

5/16/2017

Mustafa Ali had taken his eyes off Drew Gulak in recent weeks because of Neville’s situation with Aries. This week it finally cost him.

Gulak caught him from behind and floored him, all the while shouting all sorts of anti-flight propaganda before feeding him to Tony Nese. One good knee(se) later and Ali landed in the trainer’s room, just as a precaution. 

He heard the door open and yelling from down the hall. The door discretely closed. “I’ll be resting in here a moment,” a polite voice informed the trainer.

Ali forced an eye open to see the well-dressed Jack Gallagher in the room, a light sweat on his brow that may or may not be related to why Ariya Daivari was shouting insults in Farsi down the hall. Gallagher noted a potential ally being treated here. “It seems Drew Gulak has had your number of late,” he observed.

Ali groaned and pushed up to a seated position. “If he wants a match with me, I’ll take it. Still waiting for my chance against Neville.”

“It seems Austin Aries has all of Mr. Neville’s attention of late. I’ve made that my business for now.” 

“TJ’s working for Neville. Not sure if it’s willing or not.” Ali chose his words carefully.

“A chance at the Cruiserweight title was promised…” 

“Are you sure? I don’t think our ‘King’ is that magnanimous.”

Gentleman Jack gave that some thought. “I’ll observe the main event. It does seem that TJ Perkins believes in our self-proclaimed ‘King’. He’s earned the distinction but the constant reminders are tiresome.”

“Do me that favor, Jack, I think I’m done for the night.”

\----------------------------------------

5/22/2017

Finn perked at the Monday Night crowd. 

Roman and Wyatt had opened the show, but Samoa Joe ran out there to beat up Wyatt. Then Seth Rollins ran out there to beat up Joe. The Swamp Prophet and the Samoan Submission Machine banished from the ring, leaving Seth and Roman standing tall.

“Shield! Shield! Shield! Shield!” the crowd demanded. 

Finn hurried to a monitor, watching the two hounds carefully. They stared each other down, but neither attacked. Neither raised a fist for their trademark salute. Roman’s annoyance at Seth’s presence left no room for pleasantries. Seth’s confusion that Roman would even be angry he was there, combined with the thrall rush he got from the nostalgia chant, froze him in place. They left separately, neither lowering their guard. Finn smirked, however, when Roman pushed some more of that thrall to get his shoulder in better shape since he guessed he’d be working later that night. 

“You didn’t go out there?”

Finn glanced back over his shoulder, noting Mustafa Ali perched on a tall stack of roadcases. “Or are you going to just pick up the pieces? I heard you’re not even going to interact with any of them tonight.”

“It’s for the best,” Finn admitted. “It’s motivating Roman, his Pride has been wounded again.”

“And these people see you as some conquering hero,” Ali replied with more irony than sarcasm. 

Finn flashed his brilliant, impish smile. “But I am their ‘conquering hero’, their ‘uncrowned champion’. I’m also the one that Paul Heyman fears the most.”

“Fears you? Compared to - “

“Compared to Lesnar? Call him a ‘beast’ all you want. He’s just a man. He’s just a mortal blessed with freakish strength… of  a mortal.” 

“That’s a dream match.”

“And I’ll make it happen… and it will be Brock’s worst nightmare.”

\-----------------------------------

5/22/2017

“Worthless sot!! Embarrass me with a loss to that bloody Aries!”

Tony Nese thought himself the strongest in the Cruiserweight division until Neville hurled him down a hallway backstage. Nese reeled from being strapped into two submissions in the course of five minutes and was sure a nerve was pulled in his neck. He’d almost pulled himself to his feet when Neville kicked him firmly in the lats. 

“What use are ya when you can’t even put that feckless waste to rest!”

Nese rolled to a seated position, holding his side. “Caught me in a weird turn with the Last Chancery. I thought I could throw him off my neck -”

“You thought?! You THOUGHT~?!” Neville snarled and slapped Nese just above the ear. “You had yer orders! I should have brought TJ instead!” He wouldn’t openly admit that Aries’ reversal was impressive, for now he had to keep Nese in line and motivated. “My crown was not on the line, lad, but when you’re in that ring, forget all yer definition-” Neville swatted Nese on a bicep - “or your abs!” he resisted punching Nese in the gut. “Fight like you have a crown of yer own to defend! Posing and strutting for after you’ve won the match!” He stormed off, cursing at nothing in particular.

Tony rubbed his sore neck and rotated a shoulder. He’d remember that the next time he’s in the ring.

\--------------------------

5/22/2017

“A string is a strange little thing. At rest, it can do no harm. Wrap it around a finger, make it dance…” 

Wyatt toyed with a random piece of string and stared into his lantern. “The Hounds wear your collars, and already they snap at each other. Their anger and rage will feed back to you, won’t it? They’ll be your pets on leashes to forget the leash around your neck.”

The lantern flashed to life. “They do not sense it? Can no one see it?”

Wyatt chuckled. “It’s a string, they’ll ignore it. To you, it might be more like a straw, drinking in their power, this ‘thrall’ that they gather. I have some too; how do you think I got the Hounds barking in the first place?”

The lantern smoldered a moment. “They will bite each other. They will bleed. They will suffer. Then they will return to where all this began.”

“You chose wisely, these hounds….”

“One for his malleable mind. One for his bloodline. One for his taste for chaos.”

Wyatt could guess which is which. “I will bring you your Hounds.”

“And you’ll have your reward, Legion. You have our word.”

\------------------------------------

5/29/2017

“...Dean’s made frustrating Miz a hobby, but eventually Miz is going to get backup,” Finn explained to the brothers before him. Finn understood one thing about Dean: no matter how crazy or stupid he appears, he can improvise a plan no matter the situation. Something Seth probably doesn’t notice and perhaps Roman tacitly accepted. With neither at Dean’s side, Finn chose some fine veterans to assist.

The Hardy Boyz, recently returned to WWE and claiming the Tag Team gold at Wrestlemania, weren’t quite the same “boys” that left the company nearly a decade before. Finn was aware that North Carolina did have a couple of ley lines in the mountains, and these two had only recently tripped over them. Most of those from the group “Omega” had found this source, but only a few truly harnessed it. Finn recalled how successful Shane Helms became once he truly embraced that power and imagined it as a modern-day superhero.  _ If the world only knew that their superhero Tag Champs from over a decade past were saving the world off-camera,  _ Finn recalled. 

Matt and Jeff only knew of such source and used its power for much more mundane purposes. Jeff embraced it for his artistic side, and used that and the salve of thrall to keep his body mostly intact. Matt’s attempt at harnessing it had driven him mad - it Broke him, and exposed him to cosmic energies he could barely control. Finn couldn’t assist Matt as much as he wanted, but realized that perhaps Dean could help Matt reign it all in.

“Dean doesn’t really need any real backup. Where’s Roman in all this? And he’s still not talking to Rollins?”

“I wish it were that simple,” Finn admitted to Jeff. “But Dean’s a champion too, it’d be more than fair. Dean might welcome it.”

Matt blinked rapidly, still struggling with those bizarre internal energies. “My brother and I can assist this ‘Lunatic Fringe’. But why not you, King Demon?”

Finn casually popped his collar to his jacket. “I’ve got my own plans. And Dean loves a good idea, give him credit for this. And Zenith,” Finn locked eyes with Matt. “Your time will come. Let Matt be Matt just a little bit longer.”

“This vessel needs new challenges, King Demon. What has been should remain in the past.”

“Like time mattered to you.”

Matt blinked again, voice regaining it’s North Carolina twang. “We got this,” he nodded to Finn. “Come on Jeff.”

\---------------------------------

5/29/2017

The shoulder healed, the ribs finally silenced. Roman patted down his vest before hitting the ring against Rollins.

He hadn’t had a reason to be angry at Seth lately. Reigns was long over the Shield breakup and looked more at his brothers’ accomplishments. All three wore championship gold since that time, each taking their own paths getting there. Did his loss at Wrestlemania 31 sting? Not as much as it did Lesnar, who he had beaten until Seth ran down. Roman speared Lesnar to save Rollins, only to take the pinfall. Over the roar of the crowd he heard Seth whisper something to him:

“Thank you so much.”

They may had been on opposite sides of the ring that night, but neither one of them wanted Lesnar in the middle of that title bout. Roman wasn’t going to let Lesnar win, and if he had to lose, it would be to his brother.

Seth’s gratitude faded into arrogance, claiming he had Roman’s “Number”. Not how the Big Dog saw it. His right fist clenched reflexively, bluish-purple energies snaking up and down his tattoo. Not using that power tonight meant a fair fight between the two brothers. Some of that thrall might come in handy on Sunday. He smirked as he flexed his arm again, watching the energy dance, threading through the patterns and seeming to sharpen the spines in the design of his arm. “Nah,” he said to himself. He’d save that big of a superman punch for Samoa Joe to keep from breaking his hand. 

First, give his brother the Architect a workout. Then he can worry about Joe, Wyatt and Balor.

“Keep wakin the dead with that show!” Neville spat from across the hall. The King of the Cruiserweights still stewed from a submission loss to Aries and a lack of assistance from TJ Perkins. Now the Samoan Prince wants to show off again? “Off to shake up the buses and blow out some windows while yer at it?”

Roman shook out his right arm and glared at Neville, who stormed closer. “First that thrall show in the parking lot before Strowman got his hands on ya, now this?” He pointed accusingly at the glowing tattoos.  “Yer foot on the neck of a show that we could all benefit-”

“Look man, I got no beef with you, so whatever’s got your beard in a bunch-”

“You’ll HEAR me, Samoan!” A flash of silvery energy washed across Roman in challenge. “You’ll not take those words to a KING!” 

Roman steeled. “‘King’? That ain’t the Universal title, son.” The tattoos on his right arm reflexively shimmered again.

“Bring that arm forward and see how many times I’ll wrap it round yer neck-”

“ENOUGH!” 

Gold-white light washed over the pair, stunning them both. Mustafa Ali landed nearby. “You’re drawing enough attention without having to resort to thrall-”

Neville kept his eyes on Roman. “Mind yer business, Ali-”

“If he’s gonna step up,” Reigns growled,  “he better be ready for what happens next.”

Finn also hurried in after sensing the cosmic commotion. “Roman, you’ve still got a match tonight. Neville, I suggest you back off.”

“Did you NOT sense it? You can SEE it well enough.” Neville again gestured accusingly at Roman’s tattoos. “Glows in the dark, like some others I know.” His glare landed on Ali.

Finn held his own power back. “Not here, and NOT now. Roman, you’ve got a match. Neville, Ali - move it to the ring if you HAVE to settle.”

“My battle’s not with Ali!” The Cruiserweight champion protested.

“Then stop starting fights that might bring the building down!” Ali ordered.

“Do NOT take that tone with me, Ali!”

Balor grabbed each one by a wing.  _ “Not. Here. Not. Now. _ This will be settled, when we’ve cooler heads prevailing.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural $#!+ hits the fan

6/4/2017

_ Hard to be any sort of guardian angel when I can’t even defend myself.  _

Ali sulked backstage at Extreme Rules, one leg in a heavy bandage. Drew Gulak had gotten the better of him that past Tuesday, now he wouldn’t be much help if Neville flew off the handle again. He resisted the urge to pull one of his wings over his body like a blanket and call it a night; that would catch way too much attention no matter how comforting it would be.  

It only hurt worse as he heard allies falling. Dean Ambrose lost his Intercontinental title to the Miz. The Hardyz lost their tag belts to the Bar. He listened to the ebb and flow of the crowd as Neville battled Austin Aries for a third Pay-per-view in a row. Ali remained torn about who should win that bout. Aries was an honest man with skewed, brusque viewpoints; Neville was Neville no matter what. Either one as Cruiserweight champion would only increase the level of trash talking backstage. What skullduggery did Neville have in mind this time against a mortal he hated more than anything else in his long life? Ali got his answer as he felt a burst of Neville’s thrall.

The King of the Cruiserweights would continue his rule, impressing the crowd by flattening Aries with the Red Arrow followed immediately by the Rings of Saturn. Not even Aries’ ego could escape that. 

Now, sadly, no one will be able to escape Neville’s ego. Was it really that simple? 

_ Simple as falling out of the ring,  _ Ali mused as he rubbed his sore leg. 

\---------------------------------------

6/4/2017

Roman had barely secured his gauntlet when someone knocked on his locker room door. “That you, Seth?” 

The door pushed open. “Not quite.”

Reigns wheeled to face the door, seeing Finn Balor offering a cautious smile. “We need to talk.”

“I’m not working with you in the Fatal Five way,” Roman interrupted.

“It’s not that. It’s about what’s been going on since Wrestlemania. It’s about what happened with you and the Undertaker.”

“What’s done is done…..” Roman’s distant reply. He was already sick of talking about it.

“You didn’t want to retire him, did you?”

“Did it really change anything?”

“That’s something we both need to figure out.” Finn sat himself on the edge of a bench. The Samoan sat across from him after a moment.

“There’s a buncha weird magic shit that goes with it, but you already know that.”

“Aye, and I’ve guessed correctly that you know most of this through your family line.  All the Samoans are one family, except Samoa Joe.”

“Then there’s whatever you did and said in my head.”

“I heard the Undertaker, too.” Roman froze. Finn nodded. “I think we both know. 

“Undertaker’s ‘heritage’ dark magic permeated a generation of wrestlers and caused a lot of damage here.”

“Rosey would tell me some things….”

“Likely all true.”

“Cerberus trying to crash Wrestlemanias through the Undertaker? Edge and Christian tied into it somehow? Kane really able to control fire?” a slow smile crossed the Big Dog’s face. “My brother and Hurricane actually doing superhero stuff even if they looked more like a 60s Batman tribute team on TV?”

“Jericho would be the better one to ask. And you already know how much of this has to be true when you get Neville’s attention.”

“So how does he see all this and some people don’t?”

“He’s… got his own ‘heritage’ as well.” Finn would have to detail that another time. “When you defeated the Undertaker, you stood on the ramp and shook your head ‘no’ at him. Was that ‘no, I didn’t want to beat you that way’, or - “

“He claimed that just because I beat him didn’t mean Cerberus was gone. If I beat him, I beat Cerberus, right? I thought that’s how it worked. Now it’s all up in my head.”

_ Calaway would be one of the few to get through a Samoan head,  _ Finn considered. “How is it ‘in your head’?”

Roman tamped the side of his head with his left fist. “He’s in here…. and somehow he’s about here.” He pointed up and down his arm, tracing parts of his tattoo sleeve as he went. “Thrall, right? That’s what he called it. I’ve had something like this before that match, but now it’s off the charts.”

Balor nodded again. “So you inherited his power.”

“And his voice in my head. That’s Orton’s deal.”

Finn carefully reached for Reigns’ right shoulder. It crackled as his hand neared; he nodded. “Thrall, and some Cerberus magic still there.”

“How do I finish getting rid of that?”

_ Why? You will need both.  _ Calaway’s voice echoed. Both startled and looked around the room.

“Callomah, don’t make this any more difficult - “ Finn growled.

_ You both underestimate the combined power now.  _ Roman’s arm started to glow again.

The big Samoan grabbed at his arm.  _ You’re not helping!  _

Finn hopped backward. “That’s a bad idea, Callomah - setting off all the alarms isn’t-”

Roman slumped off the bench to his knees, suddenly heaving. He held back bellows of pain as Calaway’s power surged and mixed with his own. 

_ You ‘wait’ because you seek MORE Thrall?  _ Callomah confirmed.  _ I’ll show you “more”. _

Balor could only back up. “There’s got to be a better way -”

Too late. Roman reared from his knees, his roar echoing with the combined energies. His body spasmed from the sheer force of the power, crackling over his entire body in blue and purple light. The energies clashed with each other and pushed in and out of his body, contorting his arms and shoulders. The straps of his tac vest tore away, the faint glow of new eyes emerging across swollen trapezius muscles. The roar keened into an otherworldly howl, four voices howling in unison. Roman’s, Callomah’s, and the two hidden heads that the power stolen from Cerberus sang a dirge of Wrath that overwhelmed Balor initially.

_ THIS is what you can do, Roman. THIS is what will defeat the Beast! THIS is what will put you at the top of all of the mountains you climb!  _

Roman brought his head back down and raised both arms off the ground. “Not…. with... HIS… power….” 

Balor had no choice but to engage. The storm of energies will bring anyone who can sense it running, especially if they sense Undertaker’s power in that maelstrom. He lunged for Roman and wrapped his body around Roman’s shoulders and arms, trying to force the vestigal heads back into his body.  _ “This ISN’T the time for this!” _ he shouted at both of them.  _ “Let Roman use it as he sees fit, before - “ _

The locker room door blasted off its hinges, missing Roman and Balor by inches. Mustafa Ali appeared outside the door, trying to hold two other people from entering.

“The devil’s going on in there?!” Neville demanded.

“Get off him, Balor!” Dean Ambrose demanded at the same time. Dean knew SOMETHING was happening to his brother, and having the Demon King wrapped around him like that didn’t look good. 

“I can explain-”

_ They won’t listen,  _ Roman and Taker thought at the same time.

The swirling energies flashed red, black, blue and purple, a war of thrall and dark magic threatening to blow out of the locker room and further into the arena. Ali couldn’t hold his two attackers for long and they fell into the field, adding gold and silver energies to the mess. Roman pushed to his feet in sheer defiance of the storm, shrugging Balor off. 

“Stop…..this…..storm,” Roman snarled, silver-blue eyes flickering with the raging energies in the room.

Ali gaped as the winds in the room picked up even more. Balor regained his footing, only to be pushed back with another thick mix of Anger and Wrath. Not just Roman and Callomah this time, either; Neville’s eyes were glowing in hot white fury, his power only escalating things. 

Ali leapt between Neville and Roman, spreading his wings to block them. “You heard Balor!” he ordered with reflexive authority. “We can’t be fighting each other if there’s a common goal!”

“Looked like a fucking DEMON was attacking Roman!” Dean yelled back. “Whatever else this is, it’s just PISSING ME OFF!” 

Neville glared up at Dean. “You shouldn’t even be in here!” 

“He’s my brother,” Dean retorted, pushing Ali’s wing aside. “I’m gonna help him no matter what kinda shitshow you guys are trying to do here!”

Roman’s silver-blue eyes locked on Dean. He reached out for him with his left hand, not sure if the fluxing power in his right arm might hurt him. Ali’s other wing tried to separate them, but Dean grabbed a handful of feathers. “Back em off, Ali, or I’m grounding you. I know this hurts.” He tugged for emphasis. Ali winced but stood his ground.

“We’re all on the same side!” Ali half-pleaded.

“Speak for yerself!” Neville reached for Ali’s other wing, only to have Balor tackle him aside.

“Golden boy’s right!” Dean agreed with Ali. “Undertaker, let my brother go. You LOST. I lost too tonight, but I’m not losing a brother the way I lost my title!”

_ Stand with your brother. _

“No shit. Let him go, Deadman.”

_ He has what he needs.  _ Undertaker faded from the room, the purple energies solidifying to a more uniform dark blue. Roman remained standing, eyes still glowing as the winds died down.

Neville tried to shock Balor again to fend him off. “Trying to start a WAR, Balor!?”

“This isn’t a war!” Balor shouted back as the energies began to subside. “And we shouldn’t be fighting one amongst ourselves.”

Ali glanced back and forth, wings still fully spread. Dean again pushed a wing aside, focusing solely on his brother. “You back with us, Roman?”

The big Samoan reached for Dean’s head and dragged him close, knocking foreheads. His eyes closed and held Dean in place as the last of the supernatural storm faded. 

“You still got a match tonight, compadre,” Dean reminded his comrade in arms. “Hopefully Finn didn’t hurt you too bad in this mess.”

“He was trying to help me,” Roman whispered. 

Neville kicked free of Balor. “Some help if you’ve just broadcast to the world what you’ve got, Reigns.”

Roman stepped away from Dean, eyes opening. “Then whose side are you on, ‘King of the Cruiserweights’?”

Finn stood and brushed himself off. “In a room full of Kings and Knaves, it’s hard to tell who you side with, doesn’t it?”

“A room where only Kings should talk of such madness,” Neville glared again at Ali, then at Dean. “enjoy this rarified air for the moments you’re in here. This won’t happen again.” His last sentence directed at Roman.

“You can take that up with the Deadman,” Roman deadpanned. 

Dean looked to everyone else in the room. “Welp, if that’s all settled, I need a beer. I’ll buy if you win tonight.” He patted Roman on the right shoulder, startling when some of the energies sparked across his hand. He shrugged to Roman and strode out of the room as though nothing had happened.

Neville glared back at the rest of the stupefied men as he stormed out a few moments later. Ali exhaled, folding his wings shut. He turned to Roman, who absently rubbed his right arm and looked away.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Finn finally spoke up. “Neville’s right, Undertaker shouldn’t be pushing your power around like that. Bray Wyatt knows too much, now.”

Ali’s expression grew stern. “Information is more important than thrall alone. If Wyatt knows how strong Roman’s thrall really is, he’ll better prepare. I was hoping he’d underestimate you.”

Roman shook his head. “Not just that, Taker’s never been able to push back on me that hard. Not even the night after. I thought it was just nerves before the Five way tonight.”

“You ok for now?”

“... for now,” his absent reply. “Wyatt’s been picking at me, at Seth…. he even went after Dean in the last month. He can’t make up his mind, can he?”

“Settle with him tonight.”

“I’m gonna settle with everyone tonight.” Roman finally turned to the door. “We’ve got a match. Ali, probably don’t have to tell you this, but be careful, Neville’s stronger than you think.”

“I’ve noticed. Thankfully he’s not as angry with me as he is with you.”

“He needs a new target,” Roman replied over his shoulder.

Ali nodded to Finn. “Not a coincidence that Wyatt went after those three specifically, is it?”

“Wyatt holds grudges, but this time it’s more than that. Keep your ears open,” Finn’s smile finally crept back into place. “And your wings shut.”

\--------------------------------------------------

6/5/2017

“Finn Balor - is GUILTY!! Samoa Joe is GUILTY!! Seth Rollins is GUILTY! And last but not least, ROMAN REIGNS - Roman Reigns is GUILTY!” 

Bray Wyatt smoldered in the center of the ring, waves of thrall washing back and forth from the crowd to his psyche and back. He’d been denied his chance at facing the Beast, mostly through his interactions with Roman during the Fatal Five-way. Balor nearly had him beaten as well, but Samoa Joe chose this moment to take that victory away from the Demon King. Now Samoa Joe would chase the Beast. To Wyatt, this was not the solution to the Lesnar problem. Only a God can strike down a Beast, not a Machine, not a Demon, a Kingslayer, or even the man who struck down the mighty Undertaker. He’d completed his mission of tethering the Shield members back to Cerberus, and judging from the powerful thrall tantrum the night before, not only has it gone unnoticed, but that magic and thrall flow freely through his supernatural conduit. So why didn’t Cerberus give him enough power to put him before the Beast? His lantern never answered.

“And I have made a vow that one by one they must all be punished! Starting tonight, right here right now, with Roman Reigns himself!” 

Wyatt felt a faint rush from his new “master”, preparing him to square up against the Big Dog. He knew that Roman would not let his boast go unanswered, and soon enough the march erupted in the arena to a chorus of cheers, screams and boos.

Roman himself soaked in that thrall as he walked slowly to the ring. He paused at the base of the ramp to lock eyes with Wyatt; Reigns’ eyes were a deep blue, a silent warning to the talkative Swamp Prophet. He deliberately turned to the steps and made his way through the ropes, a specific set of motions that invoked the Undertaker. 

Bray chuckled at his guest. “Right on cue.” He strode closer as the crowd grew louder; they chanted for and against Roman, and weird tide of positive and negative thrall that wrapped around him. He locked stares with Wyatt once more and snatched the microphone from his opponent.

“Do you hear this?” Roman motioned to the virulent cross-chants for and against him. “This is why I am THE Guy. And you know what happens when you run your mouth in my Yard?” 

Bray would have answered if he wasn’t slapped clean out of the ring. He backed up a few feet on to the ramp, surprised at how much of that thrall surged from him and fed back to him from the unruly crowd. He couldn’t back down, knowing Roman would pursue. 

He threw off his vest and marched back to the ring, only to be punched out again in short order. Straight at a Samoan was bad strategy.  _ Time to reach for the strings… my puppets. _

\----------------------------------------------

6/5/2017

Mustafa Ali rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he wandered back to the locker rooms. He’d broken Neville’s grip on TJ even if it meant losing a match to get there. He’d guessed (correctly) that if he gave TJ a big enough ego boost he’d question the King of the Cruiserweights about his promise for a title opportunity. It would cost him a title shot in the near future. Hopefully Neville will be too angry about the title defense to realize how it came to that point. 

Ali wanted to focus back on some of the information he gathered from last evening’s thrall storm before the main event. He knew about Finn and Neville’s abilities, and learned just how literal the torch-passing was from Taker to Roman. The warnings about Dean Ambrose were well-founded and seen firsthand unnerved the Chicago angel. Ambrose, like a cartoon character, walked through a supernatural storm like it didn’t exist, pushed aside an Angel’s wings (twice) and did he just casually tell the Undertaker to “go away”? Undertaker wasn’t even in the room, no one had mentioned it to Dean while he was there, how did he know? Had Roman even tried to explain it to him? Dean obviously “heard” Taker before his spiritual departure. He really hadn’t given much thought to Roman’s neurotic friend. No one seemed to, at times. 

Which might explain how Dean managed to get Mike’s handheld and crash the little party Maryse was holding for the Miz. No one had expected Dean to show up again after his altercation with Elias Sampson. 

A chill washed through the arena, interrupting Ali’s thoughts. 

Wyatt. 

Why would he teleport to the ring during the main event? Did Bray really want to run afoul of Samoa Joe and Seth Rollins at less than 100%? He tried to “locate” where the Swamp Prophet teleported, but wherever he landed must have been out of range. 

All this added up in Ali’s mind. All this and the missing Finn Balor...

\------------------

6/7/2017

The Big Dog could be a big kid at heart. He smirked to himself as he quietly locked the back door behind him, sneaking to his car for a short drive south.

Everyone else in the house slept peacefully. Yet here he was, sneaking out of his own home, rolling his own car to the street before starting up and making the short drive to Deadman’s Island, just on the other side of Pensecola Bay. Finn apparently had the week off as well and texted Roman about meeting up. Given the time and location, it had to be about all this Undertaker business. 

Roman still didn’t want to talk about it. He guessed Undertaker didn’t want to hear it, either. Finn insisted, if only to get the two stubborn warriors to stop bickering long enough to resolve the slow escalation of Wyatt’s assault. No distractions, no Neville or Ali, not even Dean would show up for this meeting. 

Just Samoan Royalty, the Demon King, and the Son of Cerberus meeting at Deadman’s Island to talk about magic and thrall.

Papa Sika had warned him that wrestling was a weird business. Roman couldn’t top this if he tried.

He chose the meeting area for Finn - an isolated beach near the southern tip of the Town Point reef, on the west side of the island facing the mainland. There’d be a few miles of space between them and civilization, in case things got out of hand. Again.

The gulf breeze brought an unnatural chill inland. Roman closed his eyes. “Is that you, Deadman?”

_ A fool’s errand, Roman.  _

“I should just let you and Finn talk it out. I knew you couldn’t walk away.”

The breeze picked up, swirling past Roman and drawing energies of the area. He felt a slight tug as thrall peeled off his tattooed arm like bandages. He remained still as the energies cast a shadow nearby. 

“Kings don’t just walk away.”

“But that’s what you wanted,” Roman insisted. “You claimed that what we did at Wrestlemania would free you. You’re still here. You can’t let go of this power, can you?”

“No one thinks for me, Roman. And your pact with Cerberus - the one you and your brothers signed - is not broken.”

“And ‘daddy’ told you all about it, didn’t he?” Roman faced the apparition, looking Callomah square in the eye. “Apparently there’s something neither one of you told us.”

The standoff suddenly interrupted with a new rush of energies. A dark red light washed past them, winds kicking sand around them. They refused to break eye contact as the red lights flickered all around them before settling nearby in a shadowy patch close to the tree line. Both could feel this new energy echo and howl around them, an otherworldly storm that even the Son of Cerberus held his breath a moment. 

A figure strode from the shadow, one that Roman recognized from a battle his brother Seth had fought. One that the Undertaker knew and recruited for a war they all knew were coming.

The slight frame belied the level of power, which stirred the winds and blew the tendrils of the black crown around the blackened face and ice-blue eyes of the mediator of this late night assembly. His maw dripped of acid, his sash snug to his left hip, his clawed footprints fading with each slow step closer to the pair. He could see that neither Roman nor Callomah chose to face him, stubborn Pride keeping their eyes locked in defiance of each other. 

They weren’t about to lose this staredown, even before the Demon King himself. 

_ “You chose us to fight this new ‘war’, Callomah,” _ Balor rasped.  _ “I could choose to walk away and let you two allow Wyatt to finish his mission, whatever it may be. Both of your Pride, Callomah’s Wrath and Neville’s Anger tempt me to walk away from this bargain. Feasts of this magnitude only make me lazy and more interested in watching this implosion.” _

“Kings don’t walk away,” Callomah repeated. 

_ “Given the sheer force of all the Sin swirling around at Extreme Rules, it was a wonder I could walk away at all.” _ The demon maw drooled slightly as a hand brushed across his midsection. If all that Sin were real food, he would have passed out full.  _ “I outrank you, Son of Cerberus. And I respect Roman as your chosen successor.” _

Callomah broke the staredown, indignant at the claim.  _ “You aren’t as ‘free’ as you hoped, are you?”  _ Balor continued.  _ “Cerberus still wants you home and taking his place at the Gates. You forced more of your power to Roman in hopes that Cerberus would change his mind. You’re not as powerless as you thought.” _

“Lies - “

_ “Then what did I see on Roman’s shoulders at Extreme Rules? Are you luring Cerberus to take Roman instead?” _

“That was HIS choice -”

“You don’t speak for me!” Roman interrupted, eyes starting to glow anew. “We made a choice. A wrong choice, but we made it and we’ll own up to it. You don’t HAVE a choice because ‘daddy’ is gonna take you if he can’t get us. Is that what this is about?”

_ “You CHOSE to side with Cerberus?”  _ Balor gasped.  _ “Why??” _

Roman looked away. “I don’t need the Rock to succeed. I don’t need the Samoan mystique over-reachng what I know I can do. I saw what happened with Rosey and I’m not going to fall into that trap, either. Turns out I should have just stuck it out. 

“Rollins wanted power, he wanted to be a King. He found the top of that mountain and realized what he could become and jumped off, landed on his feet like he always does and kept running. 

“Dean…. I know what he wanted.”

_ “What was he looking for?” _

“I can’t tell you. I’m a man of my word, and I told Dean I wouldn’t say.”

“I know what he sought,” Taker growled. 

“You should keep my word, too.”

_ “Look, it doesn’t matter what he wanted. What’s done is done.” _ Balor had to steer things back to the original purpose.  _ “Callomah, if you want Roman and I to succeed, why do you keep sabotaging Roman? Are you angry he took Cerberus’ offer? Still hold a grudge about Wrestlemania? Shouldn’t that grudge be saved for the Beast?” _

“My sire wanted me to bring him here. I rebuked him every year no matter how much power he gave me and how much thrall I controlled. He tried with the Shield, and almost succeeded one night.”

Roman knew the exact night in question. “Dean figured it out the week before. Rollins would have been the key to it all. They didn’t act fast enough with Rollins after he beat me at Mania. If Rollins had the belt again and Kane was right there to help him along…”

Balor finally put two and two together. _ “Cerberus would have come if I hadn’t beaten Seth that summer.” _

Taker nodded. “And that’s why there was nothing left of your shoulder.”

Balor reflexively reached for the repaired shoulder.  _ “You didn’t answer my question.” _

“My sire will keep trying. Roman needs enough of my power and his own thrall to shut down the portal and sever his ties with Cerberus.”

“He doesn’t control me!”

Callomah reached for Roman’s neck. “You still wear his collar.”

Balor appeared between them.  _ “Allow me, before you two start fighting again.” _

The Demon King faced Roman, looking carefully at his throat. Roman raised his head only slightly to give Balor a better look. It was not a submissive gesture; more of a dare. Balor’s maw salivated even more with the thought of devouring warrior blood soaked in Pride and thrall. Instinctively Roman grabbed for the giant tongue and twisted it.  _ Hard.  _  Balor winced but inwardly thanked Reigns for helping him focus on what he needed to see: whatever “collar” wrapped around the big Samoan’s neck.

Through all that Pride he could faintly make out what looked more like a single string tied loosely around Roman’s neck like a crude necklace. He slid a black claw under the string and severed it with a simple motion. The energies within it sundered, easily absorbed by all three in attendance.  _ “Done.” _

The three of them looked back and forth at each other. “Wyatt,” Undertaker growled. 

“He might have done it to Dean and Seth, he’s had plenty of chances.”

_ “Then Wyatt is where I’ll focus next,”  _ Balor promised.  _ “Callomah, you’ll not interfere further. That’s an order.” _

“Who in the hell do you think you are?” The Son of Cerberus demanded, faint energies starting to swirl again.

_ “I am the Demon KING,”  _ Balor reminded him.  _ “And you are the son of a guardian to the gates of hell itself. If it came to blows you know that I can defeat you.” _

“And if I beat you, and he can beat me….” Roman added with a smirk.

Taker’s eyes shimmered a brilliant white, scaring up a sandstorm at his angry departure. 

Roman brushed sand from his eyes before turning back to the Demon King. “So is he gonna let me do what I need to do? Can’t have that blow up on camera.”

“For now. But I’ve got yer back. You’ve got more pressing things to worry about. Your brothers. Brock Lesnar. Strowman when he returns.” 

They shook hands. “This had to be done,” Roman admitted. “He didn’t believe in my respect-”

Finn grinned up to the big Samoan. “He was more angry about you siding with Cerberus. We’re going to fix that once and for all. Go home to your family.”

Roman’s smile slowly reappeared. Now he had to sneak back into the house…


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Joes, some Dean, and some glowy flickery $#!+

6/19/2017

With Undertaker calmed down, Roman could focus on his next task - chasing down Lesnar. 

“Y’all know people can’t beat me one on one. Ask Bray Wyatt. Ask Finn Balor. Ask my little brother Seth Rollins. Ask Braun Strowman, I put him out of commission!” 

Roman’s wording was deliberate; Wyatt and Strowman had been his major issues. He and Finn had traded wins and losses. He deliberately called Seth “little brother” to wave a metaphorical olive branch at him. Dean might not approve…

“And let’s not forget I main evented my third Wrestlemania in a row,” he mentioned with a lot less arrogance than he should. “and that’s…. where I retired the Undertaker.” 

The crowd booed in protest; to a point, Roman agreed, but he wasn’t as remorseful after last week's meeting. “I respect him,” he continued. “And he respects me because I beat him.”  _ And had to have a couple of supernatural throwdowns with him,  _ he thought to himself. 

“So here’s the plan - after Great Balls of Fire, I really don’t care who wins, whether it’s Brock Lesnar, or if -” he paused to chuckle about it - “and I don’t care if it’s that guy they call ‘Joe’.” 

He meant “Samoa” Joe, the only Samoan in the company not blood-related to the rest. Roman wasn’t too keen about him beating up Seth Rollins and almost putting him out with a second knee injury. 

“Come Summerslam, I’m the #1 contender, and you wanna know why? Because this - “ he pointed to the canvas for emphasis. “This is MY yard. And I make the rules around here.”  _ Forgiveness before permission,  _ he thought,  _ and why would Kurt Angle tell me “no”? _

His next thought lost in a roar of horns and drums, as Samoa Joe stomped out for rebuttal. 

Joe was built more like Samoans of previous generations. He wasn’t muscular in the traditional sense, but his squared frame belied agility that had kept him in the business for almost two decades. He’d honed his craft and built his reputation on a lot less money and a lot more travel that the “golden boy” of the company, and had the body count to back it up. Fans meant it when the singsong chant of “Joe’s gonna kill you” echoed in the arenas, and Joe backed that with traditional Samoan thrall and presence.

“I couldn’t help notice while I was listening to your announcement in the back that you seem to have forgotten my name. At first I was offended, then I thought to myself that you had to walk out here and make your little announcement, and tell everybody in the world the long list of competitors that you’ve beaten.” Joe didn’t have to glance up far to lock eyes with Reigns. “And I also noticed my name wasn’t on that list because you never beat me.” 

Roman wouldn’t dispute or comment on that. “So allow me to reintroduce myself - My name is  Samoa Joe,” he declared, adding accent to “Samoa”. “And I am the TRUE #1 contender and the next Universal Champion.” His conviction and intimidation enough to get the crowd’s attention. Roman refused to back down.

“I never in my life thought I would agree with Paul Heyman, but what he said on Raw last week was true. You’ll never be ‘Samoa Joe’ to me.” He locked stares to make sure this message delivered. “You would always be ‘Just Joe’.” 

The crowd ooh’d and aah’d at Roman’s defiance, if not his reference to a lower-card performer from some years past. Joe let that sink in a moment before rocking Roman with a throwback Samoan headbutt.

Reigns fell from the ring, Samoa Joe in pursuit. Joe’s speed kept Roman on his heels for the next two minutes as he was thrown from one side of the floor to the other before almost getting wrapped up in the Coquina Clutch. He slipped free and and rocked Joe with a Superman punch, sending Samoa Joe to the floor. Roman roared in celebration and some in pain - he should know better than to punch a fellow Samoan in the head!

Joe glanced up and rubbed his jaw. Roman refused to show pain or back down. 

\------------------------------------------------

6/19/2017

Seth Rollins stood humbled at his second chance.

Ten thousand plus who used to complain about his selling out now chanted that he deserved his place on the cover of the new 2K game. They cheered that he admitted to walking down the wrong path to get to success, no matter how sweet it was for a time. He had the publicity, he had the money, he had the title. 

But he didn’t have himself, something that took a while to recover. He’d spent the better part of a year trying to restore that trust with the fans, and now felt he was very close.

He didn’t have the nerve to tell them about the source material to the trailer they watched. It was written from a nightmare he’d had last summer, while he still struggled to where he belonged, especially after his heartbreaking loss to Finn Balor at Summerslam.

Thanks to his Shield training he could infiltrate anywhere, and in this case it was the WWE warehouse. He blacked out security cameras and casually walked through hall after hall of artifacts of bygone eras, reminders of the previous decades, almost going back to the WWWF. He set fire to Ric Flair’s robes and one of Undertaker’s caskets; smashed a DX helm and the Million Dollar Belt with Sting’s black baseball bat; melted a metal headdress that HHH had worn to Wrestlemania. He upended Austin’s 4-wheeler and beheaded the Andre the Giant statue with one of HHH’s sledgehammers. He would have continued the demolitions if the sprinklers and alarms hadn’t started up, and he fled the building only to set the exterior on fire. 

Burning it  _ all  _ down. And he did it with a smile on his face. No remorse. No mercy. No regrets.

He requested the trailer play before he went out to talk to the masses so he wouldn’t be tempted by the ideas portrayed in it. He was ready to promise them all that he was back on the right track and free of anyone’s control. He expressed infinite gratitude that the crowds accepted him despite that nightmarish video and the personal hell he’d put himself through to get to that night. 

He’d changed a lot of minds…. just not Bray Wyatt’s.

Wyatt chose to interrupt the Architect just as Seth prepared to make a promise he likely couldn’t keep. “There you go again, Mr. ‘Architect’,” Wyatt droned, “contradicting yourself.  From one side of your mouth you talk about how you’ve grown as an individual.” The Eater of Worlds chuckled at that notion. “through the other side of your mouth, all you can talk about is all your material possessions… like your Vanity.”

_ Pride,  _ Finn corrected to himself. He didn’t appreciate Wyatt interrupting his dinner.

“And you say yourself, Seth, that you’ve become your own man. Yet you shill this corporate banner.”

Rollins folded his arms, patiently waiting for Wyatt to stop rambling.

“Seth, Seth, Seth… I can feel the struggle going on in your soul, man.” Another creepy chuckle. “You are still conforming. Just when you do it now, you’re conforming to what all these people want you to be!”

Finn puzzled that line of logic. _ Being a good guy is “conforming” and “Bad”? Works well enough for John Cena. _

“You can wear the clothes of a good, honest man,” Bray half-whispered. “But you and I both know that deep down, you are not that man.”

Rollins had not dropped his microphone. “Bray, you know, you’re right.  I’m not ‘that’ man. I’m THE Man!” The crowd roared in agreement while Bray scoffed. Such thrall gave Seth some courage to continue. “Look, I’ve been around some of the most egotistical men in the history of this business but lately, man, you’ve been taking it to another level! You think you know everything about everybody - well, life doesn’t work that way, okay?

“And I’ve had an exciting couple of years - a crazy couple of years, you know - coming back from knee surgery,” he gestured to the repaired knee, “ chasing the Universal Title, Slaying the King of Kings at Wrestlemania - but those people who KNOW me know that I was more excited than anything to get the opportunity to stand in this very ring right now, right here - face to face, toe to toe, in the ring, in the flesh - with an alleged ‘god’.” Seth ended his excitement with a childlike, sarcastic smirk. 

Finn smirked as well, surmising that Seth’s delivery was continued “disbelief”  

“The truth about gods, Bray, is that they only exist in our minds. So maybe in your ‘world’, you’re a god. In my world, you are nothing but a coward.”

_ Brave and foolish,  _ Finn thought to himself.

Wyatt began pacing. “And I bet in your world,” he countered, “you think you’re safe, don’t you Seth? Well, I warned you. Anyone who is to take my name in vain is to be punished.”

Finn frowned. Wyatt would likely pull the same stunt on Seth that he tried on Roman. 

“I WARNED YOU, Seth,” Bray repeated angrily, “And now - it’s time to make a sacrifice.” Wyatt casually picked up his smoking lantern. “And now…. I’m here.” 

He blew out the lantern to teleport. Finn teleported as well, close to the stage so if anything were to go to wrong he’d be ready. He waited as the music drifted up, thralled fans waving their cell phone lights in a hypnotic sway to the tune. Bray emerged with his lantern re-lit, taunting Seth with his slow pace. Rollins had dropped his microphone and crept toward a corner of the ring, waiting for Bray to take his eyes off long enough to blow out the lantern anew. 

Wyatt looked up just in time to see the airborne Architect careening down from the top rope. The contact stunned Wyatt enough that his thrall broke with the crowd, replaced with a groundswell of appreciation to Rollins. He pumped his arms in demand for the crowd to get louder still, demanding that thrall that gave him this ridiculous rush he could not ignore. 

The Eater of Worlds looked to his lantern hand and chuckled softly to himself. He’d drawn some of the Kingslayer’s blood, which would hopefully find its way to the string.  _ That crimson kiss will tighten that bond,  _ he mused.  _ Cerberus will enjoy that taste. _

_ And as for Roman…. time for a little black sheep to come home. _

\--------------------------------

The King of the Cruiserweights needed a new plan. He had zero interest in listening to the squabbles at the announce table as he endured TJ Perkins’ hubris as he fell to Akira Tozawa. This Tozawa was indeed a threat. He’d faced Tozawa, Gentleman Jack Gallagher, and several others who had joined 205 Live and knew even more so of what Tozawa was capable of. This Japanese sensation had caught the eye of the main roster. 

Now Titus O’neil bellowed in Tozawa’s ear. Something about a brand, a company… not something that Tozawa would have interest or inclination, as his perplexed expression explained. He didn’t deserve to be seen as a new shiny toy. Neville shouted Titus down to back away from Tozawa and let him pretend he had a chance at taking the Cruiserweight title away. Titus putting stupid fantasies in his head… 

\------------------------------------------------

Roman’s warrior spirit came out in full force when face to face with another Samoan. Definitely something in the blood (and head and fists) of born and bred warriors. Samoa Joe didn’t hide his delight in inflicting pain. Roman maintained his “game face” as he withstood the powerful veteran’s blows. He gave as good as he got; that’s the warrior’s way. 

He’d blocked a Coquina clutch attempt but nearly knocked himself out when he speared Joe. He couldn’t hold the larger Samoan down and watched him roll out of the ring. Reigns used those precious seconds to get his wind back, still a little gassed from a lung-compressing uranage. 

Only then did he hear it. The second best chant that washed over the ring with a healing thrall that all the performers seek.

“This is awesome!” The crowd chanted and clapped. “This is awesome!” 

It was a lot more common these days, Roman was well aware. He also knew that since it had become so common, the pinnacle chant still evaded him. 

“Fight Forever.”

The Big Dog pushed back to a far corner as Samoa Joe found his way back to the ring. He had to lock focus back on his opponent no matter how much thrall poured in. The rush he was getting probably affected Samoa Joe as well. With Joe pulling himself in the ring to break the 10-count, Roman HAD to be ready to Spear Joe again to make sure he stays down.

_ Beep...beep...beep....beep...beep...beep… _

_ The hell is that noise?  _ Roman reluctantly looked away from Joe, following the gazes of fans that now faced the Titantron. An ambulance was backing into the arena. 

_ Dean get jumped again? Did I miss it?  _ Roman stood and faced the tron, making his first mistake. 

The doors to the ambulance burst open to reveal a VERY Angry and Wrathful Braun Strowman, whose roar echoed through the arena over the shouts of surprise from the audience. Roman was never good at math, but it hadn’t been six months.

He didn’t remember too much after that when Samoa Joe wrapped him up in a Coquina clutch and locked it in tight. The room spun, then darkness.

The alarm clock for this was far, far worse. “I’M! NOT! FINISHED WITH YOU~!!!” Strowman thundered through the static and cobwebs. Again, Roman felt powerless as the Monster among Men hauled him from the mat and slammed him down face-first. Again, he heard that faint chuckling… in his mind? Or was it the crowd? It wasn’t Strowman, who ordered Reigns to fight him in an Ambulance match before mockingly dropping the mic on his vest. Even that simple gesture stung.

He simply closed his eyes again a moment as Braun stomped away. Maybe then he could get himself sorted out and start planning for that match.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Finn shook his head at the rollercoaster night. He’d soaked in all that Anger and Wrath that Strowman carried to the ring, finishing with a small side of Miz’s pride before Dean Ambrose crashed Miz’s festivities for the third week in a row. As predicted, Miz had found backup in Bo Dallas and Curtis Axel, who helped subdue the Lunatic but not before considerable chaos had ensued. 

He remained confused at why Roman had so much trouble standing up to Braun. Was there a secondary spell in place? Coincidence from the previous encounter, where he was closer to 100% than this evening’s invasion? Roman brooded when he returned backstage, only to have his evening ruined further when Dean had to be helped back after the ambush.

Roman, despite his grueling match and beatdown, still arrived first among other wrestlers to help his brother to the trainer’s room. Dean resisted for the first few steps but knew better than to match power with his big brother. “Didja see that?” he panted, “Miz is gonna be stuck on the couch for the rest of the year.”

Reigns still found a smile. “Was it worth it?” 

“Hey, if I can’t pester Brock, Miz’ll just have to do til I get his belt back.”

“And what if I want that belt?”

“Naw, naw, you keep chasin Lesnar. If Strowman’s gonna be a problem you know how to find me.” 

“He’s not a problem.” Roman’s smile vanished despite his confidence.

“The only way Braun’s gonna beat you in an Ambulance match is if he drops one on ya, you stubborn -”

Roman pushed Dean into the trainer’s room. “Takes stubborn to know stubborn.”

Dean grabbed Roman’s arm. “You had worse. There’ll be beer after this, right?”

Finn noted Roman’s right arm, which seemed dull in color. Had something suppressed his thrall? Was it a byproduct of being choked out and still not quite recovered? He needed someone to help him with those answers. 

\-----------------------

6/26/2017

“Follow them not, King Demon! We have more pressing matters here.”

Finn struggled as both Hardy Boyz restrained him from chasing a departing ambulance. Roman was in it thanks once again to another angry beatdown from Strowman. Finn sensed Reigns’ thrall dwindling as he neared the vehicle, completely shut off once he landed inside it.

_ “I don’t understand,”  _ Finn growled. “Roman shouldn’t have that much trouble with Braun. They’re a match in a fair fight.”

Jeff held on despite his confusion. “He sounded okay to me.”

The Irishman stopped struggling and brushed off his coat. “He’d better come back tonight.”

“No matter the Large Canine’s CONDEEEETION, we have urgent business with a troubadour and his international associates.”

“You saw what I saw, Zenith - Roman didn’t fight back, again. Does Wyatt have something on Braun that’s keeping Roman from countering?”

“Perplexing that the Large Canine stands helpless in the shadow of this Man Mountain Monster. The Consumer of Terrestrial Entities could be a source of MANIPULEEATION, as you’ve previously surmised?”

“Wyatt’s in the building tonight,” Jeff offered. “You could just ask him.”

“Bray Wyatt doesn’t answer any straight question with a straight answer. And if he’s got a way to steal thrall through Strowman, that could mean others on the roster are in danger.”  _ Including, and especially, me. _

“Once I find proper repose after our confrontation tonight, I will seek the answers to your questions.”

“Uh, Finn - can we have Matt back for the match?”

“Contemplate while we work, Zenith. You’ve got three hours to get me answers, give us ten minutes with your ‘vessel’.”

Matt blinked rapidly, as though waking from a twisted dream. “Ready when you are.”

\---------------------------------

6/26/2017

Dean would give back the free t-shirt for a phone charger about now.

He tried the “Where you @?” text trick that Roman uses on him with no success. It didn’t help his phone died. He didn’t have much time after he got the T-shirt and ordered to put out the dumpster fire the new “sponsor” started on Miz TV. 

What was the whole deal with Roman never fighting back against Braun? Big Dog’s not afraid of anyone on the roster. If he can put down the Undertaker, this new dude shouldn’t be any issue at all. 

Ambrose frowned and pounded his forehead with a taped fist.  _ Don’t think about that. Think about better stuff.  _ He couldn’t get the confrontation from earlier in the night out of his head. He could ask Seth about it; he started pounding his forehead again.  _ Scumbag sellout, getting all the good breaks.  _

He stopped at the whiteboard to make sure nothing else was planned for the night. Not seeing his name anywhere else (and would erase it if he was on there) he grabbed his duffel and Slater’s keys.  _ Rhyno can get them an Uber. I got a brother to save from a doctor.  _

\----------------------------------------

6/26/2017

Neville sneered at the tawdry “ringside seat” provided for Akira Tozawa while he got in a spar with Lince Dorado. If this “Titus Worldwide” had any sense they’d leave that poor lad alone. He knew that Tozawa’s confusion a facade; he spoke and understood English, but the drivel coming from Titus himself was distasteful and condescending to such a man. Pheraps Titus should give proper attention to the also-talented Apollo Crews, who certainly deserved better.

Dorado was a conundrum to the King of the Cruiserweights; a recent addition, one of a handful steeped in the Lucha traditions much like Kalisto and Gran Metalik. He knew that Kalisto had Lucha blessings to the level of a Rey Mysterio; Metalik and Dorado needed more time and seasoning. Dorado managed to get him out of the ring for a chance to fly, and there Neville discovered Lince’s thrall. 

_ Just like all others of the mask, another few flights and he might be dangerous.  _ The King chose to ground Dorado, even with his own wings itching.  _ Bat pounces cat, King to Pawn.  _ The Rings of Saturn put the cat down. Neville ensuring Tozawa could look them both in the eyes as Lince Dorado tapped out.

He’d no time to celebrate as Titus O’Neill marched out to stop any extracurriculars by declaring Neville had to face Tozawa at Pay-Per-View in a couple of weeks.  __

“Fighting for that?” Akira said simply and pointed to the shiny purple and silver trophy on Neville’s shoulder.

“Just leave yer minder at home.”

\---------------------------------------

6/26/2017

“One hound has lost his collar by the hand of the Demon King,” the lantern announced to Wyatt after his “Conversation” with Seth Rollins. “Does the Black Sheep know how to restore this?”

“A puppet can only do so much,” Wyatt admitted with a faint smile. “But there is always time to put it back in place. Opportunities are always there.

“Seth Rollins…. he is more than yours now, thanks to the blood you tasted last week. He still thinks he is safe and free of Sin; he could lead all these souls to you. I can ‘save’ him with your magic. Just remember our deal.” 

“I lose patience with this ‘deal’.”

“You’ve been chained down there for how many thousands of years? How long have you tried for this earthly realm? How many soldiers does it take to cut the chains of Cerberus and let him run wild to feast on living souls?”

“Speak not of a meal that is not prepared. Bring me the Hounds, and soon.”

\------------------------------------

6/26/2017

Balor caught up with Zenith and Enigma after the event. Roman had not returned and Dean disappeared shortly after. He guessed that at least these brothers look out for each other. Now if he could get Dean to back Seth, the rest will easily fall into place.

“You already knew that Wyatt had some strings out there,” Enigma explained. “and yeah, he’s still got Braun somehow.”

_ “I suspected. Braun himself doesn’t seem to be aware of it.” _

“The Man Monster roams in a false sense of freedom as the Consumer of Terrestrial Entities does not have to shout in his ear. Perhaps his eyes are not as Opened.”

Finn hadn’t thought of that. “I’m convinced that Rowan and Harper HAVE had their Eyes Opened. Why would he not do the same to Braun?”

“It’s a dangerous experiment. If Braun figures it out it could backfire.” Enigma shrugged. “As for Roman, Braun is somehow ‘jamming’ Roman’s powers. Not sure if it’s a conscious thing or something Wyatt put there.”

_ “‘Backfiring’ is a best case scenario.”  _ Balor would enjoy all that Wrath and Anger focused on Wyatt.  _ “And Roman grows Angrier each time his power does not activate at his command.”  _ Balor was sorely tempted to NOT fix it.

“Do you have further instructions, King Demon?”

_ “If I had them to give. Tread carefully around that monster.” _

 

\--------------------------------

6/26/2017

“Now, if I were a six-and-a-half foot tall Samoan in a flak jacket who’s pissed off that he got stuffed in an ambulance and driven through LA, where would I end up? I doubt he’d stay at the hospital.”

Dean cruised through the darker streets of Los Angeles, not even sure where to start looking. Roman doesn’t start fights but he’s good at finishing them, so he probably didn’t beat up anyone who drove the ambulance to Raw. Roman also wouldn’t just get dropped off just anywhere. No baseball at this hour; the museums are closed, the parks are closed (but who’s watching?). At least the car came with a phone charger. Now that it had some juice, he braced his knee on the steering wheel to try another “Where u @?” text to see if Roman had cooled off. 

A couple of miles later came a reluctant response- a football emoji. “Good news, he’s not far. Bad news, the only thing worse than an angry Samoan is a sad one. I’m coming, buddy.”

\----------------------------------------

6/26/2017

Mustafa Ali had a spring in his step, quietly celebrating two weeks of embarrassing Drew Gulak. Last week, he reversed a move for a pinfall. This week, Gulak attempted to fly and showed the world he had the aerodynamics of a microwave. Ali himself didn’t get much high-flying in during either match but it felt like a weight came off his wings. He’d likely have Sunday off but would still drop in to watch Tozawa sparring against King Neville. 

He’ll get all his flying in next week. He’d finally convinced Kurt to give him a match with Neville as a “tune-up” for the Pay Per View. On Monday Night Raw, no less! 

He celebrated with some popcorn as he listened to the King of the Cruiserweights get his tights (and thrall) in a bunch when Akira Tozawa drove him mad with a very one-sided argument. Perhaps that battle cry of Tozawa’s wasn’t “Ah! Ah! Ah!” but more “Ha! Ha! Ha!” Ali wanted to laugh as well, but he settled for a satisfied smile.  _ Maybe next week I can laugh. Temper tantrums like that cost people matches… and championships. _

\---------------------------------------------------

6/26/2017

Dean Ambrose’s only sport in his life was wrestling. He knew Seth followed the Chicago Bears religiously and his mood during the football season could be predicated on how his team was doing. If not that, then during the off-season he’d be playing Madden with Xavier Woods or any number of the other gamers amongst the boys. He’d try to watch, but found it boring and weird. The rules barely made sense, too many referees, too much armor and protection for guys that are supposed to be athletes? And no real fighting allowed? Just not his bowl of chili.

Roman’s interest in football went  _ way  _ deeper. That’s where he got some of that work ethic, that’s where he’d gotten that rush, knocking heads with other guys pretending to be athletes. Roman was the real deal, but football never really saw it that way. The big leagues gave him a look and walked away. Then a year in Canada for the “B” show of football. Dean didn’t know who gave up on who first - did Roman give up on football, or did football give up on him? 

Now his big brother brooded somewhere in the LA Coliseum. Dean cleared a few fences and slipped through the locker room area, knowing Roman would just jog to the field, do some wind sprints, vent on some equipment (tackling dummies? he does that on Raw) then find a quiet spot to just sit and think.

Ambrose bounded casually up the steps on the “Olympic” side of the venue, recognizing the arches from past glimpses over Seth’s shoulders when he would watch games at Pay-per-view events or at Sunday house shows. “Eemie, Meenie, Miney, Mo,” he chanted as he continued up the steps. “Which arch is your good hiding place, Ro?” 

No sign of the big Samoan when Dean cleared the top step. “I know you’re up here!” 

He didn’t quite catch the verbal response, but he knew he heard the familiar clink of a beer bottle on concrete. Dean rolled his eyes and walked through an arch, finding his big buddy brooding with bad beer after a bad night at the office. Roman didn’t even look toward his friend; his mane of shaggy black hair partially covered his face, right arm balanced on a knee and left hand toying with a mostly empty beer bottle. 

“There’s my stray Samoan!” Dean beamed. “How’d you get the ambulance to drive you all the way up here, man? I had to walk.”

The big Samoan turned his head just enough, letting strands of his mane part so that Dean could see a stern blue eye. “Easy, easy,” Ambrose held up both hands. “Brother, I wouldn’t have stolen a car just to come watch you sulk. Talk to me.”

That started a smirk on Reign’s face, but it faded quickly. “Nothing you ain’t heard already.”

“This’s gotta be a new one, did you even get to play football here?”

Another glare; wrong thing to say. “Okay. Let me try again. You got ragdolled again by that oversized banjo baby Braun Strowman.”

This time Roman looked down. Progress! “Now what in the world you gotta sulk about there? He flipped an ambulance with you in it, so what? You came back from that. You ain’t hurt from this little setback, right?”

“‘Little’,” Roman snorted.

“We took on bigger than that. We’ve thrown the Big Show around, we threw Kane around - hell, you threw the Undertaker around all by yourself -”

“Then why can’t I throw this dude?” Roman’s right arm crackled, beer bottle spiderwebbing in his other hand. “He jumped me after Mania, whooped my ass for ten minutes straight and flipped the ambulance on me. This time all he did was toss me around and I couldn’t get out of the ambulance while it drove out of the arena.”

Ambrose looked up and down Roman’s right arm. The sparks and tracings across his tattoo distracted him from saying anything else. He reached out with one finger and poked at the glowing sigils, only for that arm to lash out toward him. “Not now, man.” The Samoan rumbled.

Dean ducked. “Now’s a perfect time.” He poked Roman’s arm again and nearly took another punch. “Where was this when Braun attacked you? I mean, you cranked this shit up against the Deadman, banjo boy isn’t even on that level.”

Reigns hesitated, then looked at his arm. His gaze then met Dean’s. 

“Yeah, this glowy flickery shit!” Dean poked at the arm again, playfully dodging another punch. “Hey - maybe I should get a tattoo so I can see mine glow in the dark.”

Roman clenched his right fist again and pushed to his feet with his other hand. He flexed his arm a few times, still fascinated by the illumination. “But you can see-”

“Of course I can! I saw that and a buncha purple energy when you were fighting Taker! I even saw the fireworks show when you and Neville were throwing down, and then Ali and Finn and -”

Roman huffed in frustration, a faint growl heard under the sparks. “This isn’t coming on when I try and fight Strowman. I don’t get it.”

“Just remember that he was with Wyatt when he got here,  think about that so that lights up.” He poked Roman’s arm again. This time, not even a flinch, just a small pop of energy that shimmered in Dean’s bright blue eyes.

“Haven’t seen em working together... ”

“So what? We work together here and there, might be the same thing.” Roman chose not to speak up about working with Rollins.  “So now - What about banjo boy? What’re you gonna do about him?”

“What’re you gonna do,” Roman retorted, “now that Miz has new mooks?”

“So he’s got mooks,” Dean playfully shrugged. “If I need help you know how to get me off the ground. Now come on, shut off the light show. Maybe some In & Out can fix that.”

“My treat, right?”

“I didn’t just get Slater’s car… you need a 5x5 to go with that beer. Come on - I’ll even show you where I flipped a dude into a dumpster for a commercial.” 

Only then did Roman’s smile start to come back. “Feed your Samoan first.”

“Then can I flip you in there?”

Reigns hauled his “little brother” over his shoulder. “I said food first!”

Both laughed as they left the perch, both ignoring the fist-sized divot left behind by a Samoan strike.

\------------------------------


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "Calm(?)" before the storm

 

7/3/2017

“So are you going all out tonight, or do you have to ‘behave’?” Brian Kendrick lounged on one of the benches, head resting on his gear bag. “Valid question, and you know why I’m asking.”

Mustafa Ali had a smile glued on his face. “Either way, I don’t really care. He’s going to choose one or the other, and he’ll get it right back.”

“You had asked me to keep my eyes open, well so are my ears. Bray Wyatt talks way too much.”

“What did you hear? Or see?” Ali’s smile faded at the possible lead from Kendrick.

“He’s been going on about leashes for the Shield, and since it’s Rollins’ ‘turn’... Guess he wants hounds for trophies? No titles?”

“For Wyatt, it’s not about wins and losses.”

“And he talks to his lantern about it like it’s his only friend left. Like his lantern’s an accomplice. He really hates those ‘hounds’.”

“Wyatt holds grudges - he and his ‘Family’ fought the Shield early on. I heard it was pretty crazy.” Ali could imagine just how crazy if Roman and Dean “knew enough” then and whatever Wyatt told/did to Rowan and Harper.

“Wyatt’s still got Braun Strowman by the short hairs. He claims Roman Reigns can’t fight Braun. Sounds deliberate.”

“With someone that big, I’d think Wyatt would have stronger ‘controls’ on him.”

‘I just know I don’t get headaches watching those two fight,” Kendrick shrugged. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ali. If you and Neville get into a thrall fight I’m gonna have to step outside. That one night when you tried breaking up something with Roman and Neville? My head hurt for a week.”

“It’ll just be two of us. That other fight had about six. But I understand.”

“Good luck, Ali.” Kendrick shifted to his side, pulling his custom pirate flag over himself to rest. Ali crept out the door to let his poor friend try to sleep.

He considered his options from here- should he tell one of the Shield? Should he confront Wyatt?

_Or should I seek “royal guidance”?_

\------------------------------------------------------

7/3/2017

“Anyone seen Dean Ambrose??”

Kurt Angle felt he had to ask that question regularly. He passed several other wrestlers who shook their heads or shrugged their shoulders. Angle picked up the pace. “AMBROSE~!!”

Kurt spotted Dean down another hallway, arguing with Heath Slater and Rhyno. Mostly Slater; Rhyno was sharing his cheese and crackers with Dean.

Slater was not in the mood for Dean tonight. “You still owe me $15 for the Uber we had to take to the airport, THEN you turn the rental in a day late-”

“Hey, I turned it back in, didn’t I?” Dean half-shrugged. “Besides,  I had a Samoan emergency. You’d do the same thing if you had a Rhyno emergency.” Rhyno nodded in agreement.

“But don’t you have your OWN rental?”

“Why? I always run into somebody to give me a lift to the hotels and the airport.”

“Guys, Guys!!!” Angle stepped between them, refusing a cracker from Rhyno. “Dean, Heath told me about you stealing his car and his wallet last week.”

“I didn’t steal it per se,” Dean clarified,  “he got his wallet back-”

“About $100 lighter!” Heath added.

“I was hungry - don’t you two have a food budget? And did I mention a ‘Samoan Emergency’?”

“Dean,” Angle interrupted again. “First of all, I’m docking you $300 for stealing Slater’s stuff. Second, you three are gonna have to play nice tonight.”

“Who, us?” Dean looked to Slater and Rhyno. “Okay. So that means I can beat up someone else. Oh, and You’re welcome for crashing Miz’s segment last week.”

Kurt wiped his face in total exasperation. “And I take it you’re going out there again?”

“He’s already talking about me,” Dean shrugged and bolted off.

Heath turned helplessly back to Kurt. “He’s gonna fight Miz tonight, ain’t he?”

“No he’s not. I’ll give you an IC Title shot tonight. Dean can fight the winner on Sunday.”

Rhyno nodded in approval. Slater brightened. “Really!?”

“Least I can do for you having a Dean Emergency.”

\------------------------------------------

7/3/2017

“Bray Wyatt!” Seth Rollins announced after dispatching Curt Hawkins. “You know last week, Bray, you said you were _everywhere, maaaan….._ ” he mocked the singsongy cadence of Wyatt’s speech, grinning right through it. “Funny thing about that is, everytime I come looking for a fight you’re uh, ‘nowhere to be found’. But since I know you’re here, and you’re lurking in some deep dark corner spying on us - I’m gonna speak a little truth for you!

“You talk about me, you talk about these people like we need to be ‘saved’. We don’t need to be ‘saved’, not by Bray Wyatt, not by anybody. Because my mistakes, my transgressions, my Sins -”

 _Your Pride,_ Balor once again corrected. There was a touch of humility in there, but Seth wasn’t quite there yet.

“I don’t ignore them, I embrace them.”

 _Better._ Balor was unfortunately still hungry.

“Because they are the scars that made me into the man I am today! And Bray, you wanna talk about my vanity? Well _maan,_ you better be more worried about my Wrath because this Sunday you got one thing right! There will be a cleansing but it will not be of my soul - “

 _Wrath? mmmm….._ Balor once again debated interfering.

“Bray! It will be of your mystique when I prove once and for all that you are not a god!” The crowd approved. Another boost to Rollins’ confidence.

“And after Great Balls of Fire there’s only one question, Bray… are you a man? Or are you just a coward?” He punctuated with a mic drop. The crowd roared their approval. Seth himself was quite satisfied.

\------------------------------------

7/3/2017

Ambrose stomped out of the trainer’s room, refusing medical attention to the point that the trainer would need some himself. First he had to sit at the commentary table while Heath Slater fought the Miz, and even with Rhyno backing him up lost because of the Miztourage. He ran to the ring to get his hands on Miz and got his head handed to him. Not the first time. _At least I wasn’t out there with my pants split. They would have to go to commercial or get one of those black censor bars. A BIG one._

Miz had already left the building so messing him up some more wasn’t happening. Dean continued stomping his way back to his gear and grabbed his phone. Roman texted him during the match with a simple “?”. Nodding, Dean replied with an ambulance emoji, a thumb’s up emoji, and “Ask for Karen. Growl at her, she likes that shit.”

\----------------------------------------

7/3/2017

Neville marched to the ring to get away from all the noise that Lesnar and Samoa Joe made before his match. The fanfare and vitriol around it was likely enough Anger, Wrath and Pride to stuff that bloody Sin Eater Balor and keep him away from the ring and out of his business. With a Pay-Per-View approaching, the King of the Cruiserweights didn’t need distractions or frustrations from shouty mortals.

Mustafa Ali would be his opponent. He’d heard Ali talking to that husk Kendrick about it. _And something about the other thrall around here,_ he grumbled inwardly. He’d had to tolerate the supernatural ruckus along with all the normal nonsense, and his head still hurt from Titus O’Neill’s sea lion bellowing. If he didn’t go through the roof after this match he’ll certainly find a way out to it for some quiet!

The quiet he didn’t seek came from the crowd as he paced the ring and Ali walking down for the match. The Chicago Angel slapped some hands and ruffled his wings a bit to draw thrall with little success.

He raised the belt and taunted Ali anew. “Wishin this was on the line for ya, lad?”

“If Tozawa doesn’t take it from you on Sunday, why don’t you give me a shot at it?”

Neville sneered back at Ali without responding. He handed the belt to the referee and locked eyes with his opponent.

The bell rang to little fanfare. Ali started to circle Neville, taunting him with the faint reach of his left wing. Neville swatted it aside. “Don’t test me,” he hissed. Ali partially opened his other wing in a tacit dare.

Ali managed to slide behind him initially but the King was ready for him. “Put those away, ya knob!” He pushed Ali face-down and tried to shove said wings back into Ali’s shirt. In one motion Ali reversed, getting a headlock in place.

“This is the only way you’d listen to me,” Ali admitted as his wings closed. He managed to drop Neville to the mat, only to see the King of the Cruiserweights kippup from it.

“Try harder, lad.” Instantly Neville had the angel ny his hair. He slung Ali away only to be kicked twice and rather quickly in response. He struggled to his feet only to be slammed to the mat again with a hurricanrana.

“Keep up,” Ali goaded, getting the King to give chase. He lured Neville into position to catch him in a crossbody.

“Now will you listen?” Ali pressed.

“Fight first, talk later,” Neville snarled and kicked out.

 _This is important!_ Ali mentally demanded as they traded blows.

The Cruiserweight champ mockingly flopped near a corner. Mustafa, still distracted by his attempt to talk, clambered up the ropes for his 054. Neville leapt to his feet and knocked his opponent partially off the ropes.

 _The MATCH is important, pay attention t’ that!_ He scowled when Ali didn’t fall out of the ring. _I’ll make you Fall, angel!_ He scrambled up the ropes to ensure this would happen.

Despite his grip Ali pulled himself up on the ropes. “Not… that easy… we’re not… enemies.”

“We’re enemies in this ring!” Neville climbed up to secure his grip.

“I’m still asking for your help!”

“Not the time to be asking such things!” Neville flung Ali over his shoulder. Reflexively the angel’s wings spread and he landed on his feet. It took a moment for both to register; Ali slammed his wings shut and backed to the corner.

“Not the time, not the place!” The King of the Cruiserweights had finally lost patience. He had no interest in Ali’s diplomatic mission, he needed to be prepared for Tozawa! “You’ll stop asking by MY order!”

Again they clashed in the center of the ring, Ali nearly scoring a pinfall. “But the fate of  -”

Neville flung Ali to the floor. “YOU WILL stop asking!” He gathered Ali off the floor and threw him back in. “And you will RESPECT me!”

The king turned to the crowd and insulted them roundly. “All ya shits dinae what yer missin!” He cackled in his fae tongue.

He wheeled back to Ali. “And as for you - respect a KING!”

Ali felt Neville’s thrall spike with anger as threw a giant clothesline to turn the poor prince inside out. Neville crouched over the carcass. “If you’ll not bend a knee then I bend yer wings!” Instantly he wrapped himself around Ali in the Rings of Saturn, trapping the golden appendages awkwardly in the body-torquing hold.

 _You will still call me KING!!_ Neville’s eyes widened in frenzy as he kept the angel trapped well past the bell.

 _...King…_ Ali continued to tap as his wings creaked from the sheer force of Neville’s non-thralled strength. Only then was he released, left to catch his breath and try to explain to the medic why his back hurt so much….

\-----------------------------------------

7/3/2017

“...I am that which cannot be touched but can be felt by all!”

Finn Balor paused in his warm-up as Bray Wyatt’s voice came over the arena speakers. Wyatt wasn’t in the building tonight; the Swamp Prophet delivered his message from a remote desert, probably not far from Death Valley itself. _Undertaker doesn’t like trespassers either._

What worried Finn more was not Bray comparing himself to a Sun God; Wyatt’s “light” only came from his lantern and the whites of his eyes. The worry came from the statement that Wyatt himself was walking, talking Thrall. Publicly. _There’s a lot of others that won’t sit well with._

“And this Sunday, Seth…. you will look into the eyes of a god, but you will not go blind. No. For the first time, you will See. But it. Will. Burn.”

The emphasis on “see” gave the Demon King a chill. _Bray Wyatt is going to Open Seth’s Eyes? During a match?_

He didn’t want to be the one to do it, but Wyatt would use that tactic against Rollins during the match proper. He had to find Seth before Wyatt did; quite the challenge when both pursuers can teleport.

“King Demon! What causes you such alarm?” 

“You heard Wyatt,” Finn pointed to the monitor as the Hardyz approached. “He’s going to Open Seth’s Eyes. It might happen tonight, but I’ve got a match. I’ll need a favor.”

Jeff nodded. “Name it.”

“Come watch my match against Cesaro. Please keep your ears open. If Wyatt so much as whispers and I miss it, you tell me.”

 

\------------------------------

7/4/17 205:

“...I couldn’t get a word in edgewise!”

“He was on his bloody phone AND talking you into the wall?!” Neville spat back at Ali. “Just as I have to do again tonight! You of all people letting a greedy knob like Titus into the arena!”

“He caught me off-guard,” Ali admitted as he once again pulled away from the wall. “And he was probably looking for you more than he was for me.”

The King of the Cruisers only scowled harder. “He’s no business here!”

“I’m surprised he even made it here, after Strowman flattened him AND Apollo Crews last night.”

That part of the previous night’s main event didn’t really concern him; like Neville, Ali believed that any and all abuse on Titus was warranted. The angel more concerned himself with how Roman Reigns, despite getting the drop on Strowman, still couldn’t summon up the thrall to keep him down. Neither Finn nor the Hardyz could explain it, and no one caught a trace of orders to Strowman from Wyatt.

“That monster should have finished the bloody job so I’d not have to deal with O'Neill! Why is he in OUR ring?”

Ali startled at “our”; he was used to Neville saying “my” ring. “That might be a question Titus himself should answer. He doesn’t ‘qualify’ for the show any more than Strowman does.”

“I’d welcome that monster long before I’d welcome that snake oil peddler. Send me Lince Dorado when I’m done putting Titus in his place.”

“Speaking of Strowman-”

“GO FIND LINCE DORADO. That ogre dare not lay a hand on anyone from 205 Live.” Neville slung the belt over his shoulder and tromped off to the ramp.

Ali couldn’t get another word out of his mouth. He stood baffled at Neville’s proclamation that the Monster among Men wouldn’t come here? _Strowman would throw us all in the dumpster given half a chance._

He hurried off to break the bad news to Dorado.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot can happens in the four hours of a Pay-per-view.
> 
> ...and not just in the ring.
> 
> I had to split the PPV into at least two chapters for all that's going down. Here's the first chunk of it.
> 
> (bonus image from @Oniwanbashu)

7/9/2017

“Seth Rollins should be careful what he believes, if he doesn’t think I’m a god.”

Bray Wyatt revelled in Seth’s cluelessness to what really went on in this insane business they’d chosen. Bray himself was once that naive; it seems a lifetime ago, almost in another body, where he was a Sheep in a herd wearing black and gold. No one saw him as a threat back then. They just saw some husky kid who could run with a crowd and hold his own.

He’ll never forget that trip south. He’d found his voice there. He’d found his guide there. And she taught him how to speak to these Sheep and Wolves. She’d Opened his Eyes, and was given the power to do this to others.

He Opened Luke Harper’s Eyes and unleashed a man who enjoyed dishing out pain as much as he did receiving it.

He Opened Erick Rowan’s Eyes and created a monster that wore the innocent face of a sheep. That monster still roams.

He Opened Braun Strowman’s eyes and the giant didn’t seem as affected as his first two disciples. Perhaps that’s for the best; what he can See isn’t that unusual, or is it that the Monster Among Men doesn’t really care what he CAN See? That would be a question for later, as Seth Rollins should be the focus.

Wyatt continued debating Opening Seth’s Eyes. The farmboy spoke confidently, but his eyes, Blind as he is to this world, already have plenty of fear and doubt within. It would almost be a shame to change that. Maybe Opening his Eyes would amplify that fear. It would be suitable punishment as Bray heard the Architect once again brag about who actually knew the truth. That needed a public rectification. The masses didn’t care about the talking heads at the table anyway.

A specific sway of Thrall allowed him into the broadcast proper - something he’d learned early in his new journey and refined when he felled the Undertaker one evening.

“The time for talking is over, Seth. But we both know that my voice is still swimming around in your head. No matter how tight you shut your eyes you can still see me. And tonight, no matter how hard you fight, you will still feel me. My fists will tear through your spirit, leaving behind that part of you that you had abandoned for oh so long… tonight, Seth, you will face a force of over a thousand men!” He wagged his tongue and chuckled. “Tonight,  I set your lack of faith on fire. And from those ashes I will make you a believer! Tonight, Seth!” Wyatt swayed his shoulders with a grin, “You gonna burn!”

Wyatt’s laughter echoed through the entire arena, making fans and wrestlers alike shudder.

\---------------------------------

7/9/17

That chill swirled through the arena through the rest of the preshow. It whispered its way backstage, where Mustafa Ali again resisted the temptation to wrap a wing around himself. The chill dissipated with Neville’s angry barbs at Akira Tozawa, and evened out from the energy of the crowd. Maybe this would be a night that Neville wouldn’t be trudging around backstage complaining about things? He’d been doing that most of the day when he was told his match wouldn’t be on the main show despite it being a title bout.

 _I’d be lying to myself if I wasn’t disappointed as well,_ he thought as he closed his eyes to listen to the crowd. Tozawa’s work indeed appreciated by those in attendance but Neville wasn’t about to be shown up by some barking hyena. Ali also knew that the King of the Cruiserweights didn’t seem all that bothered about the threat of Wyatt or Strowman, despite that rush of dark magic and thrall that came with Wyatt’s sinister promises. _Then again, he’s one of the best because he doesn’t get so distracted when he’s in the ring. Witnessed that firsthand._ His wings were still sore from the torquing they got from the Rings of Saturn earlier in the week.

Ali himself could barely focus on the match as Wyatt’s speech haunted him. Would Seth Rollins be in more than just physical danger? Dean and Roman didn’t have issues after facing Bray. Nothing he could tell, anyway, especially in Dean’s case.

“So if idle hands are the devil’s playground, what are an idle Hafaza’s hands? Between shifts?” A lightly accented voice interrupted Ali’s thoughts. Mustafa bolted upright, rubbing his wings hard against concrete. He stifled a curse before looking to the voice.

Beside him stood a lean, bald gentleman neatly dressed for his match that evening. He found amusement in Ali’s startled reactions, and smirked accordingly before sipping on some coffee. “Is this a good time to talk?” Cesaro settled himself before Ali could answer. “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve seen more than my share of things in and out of the wrestling business.”

“You’re probably the first to actually call me ‘Hafaza’,” Ali explained, slightly shaken by the title. “But how - I mean, can you - do you - “

“Relax, relax,” the Swissman carrying the espresso used his free hand to suggest calm. “If you're really a Hafaza, shouldn't you have three partners? ‘Two to guard one by day, and two to guard that one by night.’. I also see you don’t have a particular charge, unless it’s Cedric Alexander.”

“Let's just say our force is stretched just as thin as any other police force…” Ali joked. Cesaro chuckled alongside the cruiser. “Seriously, can you - “

“Not very well. But what I do know, I have plenty of resources about what is going on here. Some were… before I started wrestling.” Ali shivered at the darker tone of his visitor’s otherwise even speech. “So I can ‘recognize’ things like agents of death and guardian angels. Being too close to that threshold tends to open one’s eyes.”

Ali offered a sympathetic glance to his guest, and he confirmed with a solemn nod. “I can ‘feel’ little twinges when something is different,” Cesaro continued. “Neville, Kane, Finn Balor, the Wyatts… especially Bray. He hasn’t been the same since he came back from Florida developmental. Something twisted him, then it got to Rowan and Harper. When they left Wyatt, he twisted Braun Strowman...  I think. It’s made Bray power hungry, and being a WWE champion, however briefly, only makes those urges even worse. All that time he’s had a touch of ‘death’ magic on him, and I thought it might be because he had a guardian like Sister Abagail.”

“She’s a guardian?”

“Not a very good one, but witches don’t interfere unless you’ve done something very, VERY wrong in their eyes. Or if you mess with their cat.”

“So is Natalya a witch?” Ali sincerely asked. _How many Others are here? I shouldn’t be surprised about the Hart family lines..._

The Swissman chuckled. “That’s a Tyson Kidd question. But thanks to them, I get insights from her family when I come across an energy that I don’t understand. Neville turned out to be a conundrum for me. And Wyatt, I’m still not completely clear with.”

“Bray Wyatt, I’m not sure either.” Ali tapped his own chin thoughtfully. “He’s the only one Neville hasn’t shouted down for using his powers.”

Cesaro perked up. “That was a good match with Neville this past Monday, by the way… even distracted, you have good instincts and strategy.”

Mustafa blinked in surprise; not only did Cesaro watch the match, he analyzed it? “Thank you.”

“I distract myself,” Cesaro’s waved off his stray thought. “Wyatt’s trace of ‘death’ or ‘dark’ energy is similar to Undertaker’s. I also noticed that Roman has a touch of that on him as well. Is that from Wrestlemania?”

Ali nodded. “Roman defeating Undertaker essentially meant Taker had to surrender his thrall to Roman. Since then Undertaker’s been haunting Roman and messing with his power.”

Cesaro already knew part of the answer. “You don’t have to be in this business to know that Undertaker holds grudges.”

“He doesn’t mess with Dean or Seth, though.”

“Then there’s Wyatt to consider,” the ex-soldier said, “but I doubt Undertaker ever saw him as a threat.”

“He might be, now,” Ali replied with a faint frown. “I think he’s still doing something through Braun Strowman, but no one’s caught him in the act.”

“Hmm,” Cesaro took another sip of coffee, reclining in his seat to consider. His gaze remained serious but grew distant as he mentally sifted through the thousands of pages he’s read over the years on such matters. “It might be some sort of artifactural connection from when Braun started with Wyatt. It could be a different kind of conduit to transfer energies - and not just thrall…”

Cesaro noted he might be losing Ali with the technicalities of something which seemed so abstract. He cleared his throat and steepled his fingers before focussing his attention on the literal guardian angel.

“Thrall can be transformed into all sorts of energies once someone understands it as malleable,” He carefully continued with all the gravitas of a philosophy lecturer at Oxford, his level tone of voice grounding inexplicable magic to a worldly, educated point of view. “Converting the energy requires a token or vessel - someplace to ‘store’ thrall to be converted. The physical body is only capable of moving it around within and applying it to one’s system. Myself, for example, when I have that in my system I apply it to my strength. But my body can’t turn thrall into, say, black magic or fire. That’s why the Hardyz use it one way, Finn uses it another way, you use it your own way. Those who aren’t privy to its existence still have a faint grasp on it when their adrenaline levels spike.”

“Roman almost literally wears his on his sleeve,” Ali brightened with comprehension, gesturing  to his own right arm. “It’s in there,” Ali traced down his arm in a broad pattern, “and I’m guessing it goes through his body to enhance his strength and speed.” Ali tried to keep up with his more educated guest.  “He can only discharge the energies when he makes physical contact, like his Spear or Superman Punch. Since Wrestlemania, though, he’s had a lot of trouble controlling it.” _So there IS a science to all this,_ he thought eagerly.

“So what it sounds like,” Cesaro concluded after talking all this through, “Is that Roman’s thrall problem is Undertaker trying to give him magic to go with it. In his case, the conversion is going through his tattoo, and that’s taxing on the body. Wyatt, on the other hand, is stealing thrall and converting it to magic. Magic doesn’t require a conduit to transfer, unlike thrall. The storage or converter needs to be within range when the thrall is initially gathered.”

The two men mused in companionable silence over the possibilities, Ali had just begun to reach for his own drink when the sudden lightning bolt of realization that what they were looking for was hiding in plain sight.

Something Wyatt was never seen without. Something that was under their noses all this time.

“The Lantern.”

Cesaro nodded. “Bray Wyatt’s lantern. If Sister Abagail IS gone, then there’s plenty of room there for thrall to be stored and converted.”

Ali leapt to his feet and unthinkingly flew off. He had to find Finn.

Cesaro finished his coffee. “Not even touching the ground,” he chuckled.

\---------------------------------

7/9/17

Finn watched Wyatt’s match from a shadow in the rafters, expression becoming more and more grim. Rollins never really found his footing and Wyatt simply danced around him, gathering thrall with the glee of a child pulling wings off of flies. It was everything he had to not swoop down and confront Wyatt.

_King Demon, hear my voice._

“Matt?” Finn whispered. “Zenith?” He corrected himself.

 _Please find myself and my brother,_ Zenith beckoned with some urgency. _We have dire news of the Large Canine and Assassin of Monarchs._

He teleported directly to the Hardyz locker room, where he found the brothers waiting. “You saw that match,” Finn huffed. “That wasn’t Seth Rollins out there.”

“The Consumer of Terrestrial Entities has done more than mere physical damage to the Assassin of Monarchs.” Zenith motioned to his own chest, his oddly rhythmic voice continuing in concern. “I fear the match has carved into his very essence. Perhaps the open wound in his Pride festers with darkness and doom?”

“Pride is something Seth shouldn’t run out of,” Finn frowned.

Jeff nodded. “And if Wyatt does still have control over Strowman, Roman Reigns could be in even bigger danger.”

 _But the level of Anger and Wrath will be almost to the level of the night after Wrestlemania,_ Finn’s inner demon drooled. _Would that cover the loss of the Assassi- er, the Kingslayer’s pride?_  “If Wyatt is getting that thrall to Strowman, I’ve yet to catch him redirecting it.”

“Bray Wyatt is indeed a shrewd creature,” Zenith affirmed. “He can manipulate many types of energies to accomplish his goals. A confounding conundrum worthy of further investigations.”

Again Finn huffed. “Are you SURE you didn’t sense anything on Monday?”

Jeff shook his head in further confusion. “I know what we didn’t feel,” his helpless reply, “and that was any energies from Roman. Still not feeling anything from him tonight.”

“Your match is coming up,” Finn confirmed. “I’ll find Roman. Hopefully he’s just holding his energies back for his match with Strowman.” He teleported away, leaving the brothers just as concerned.

\-----------------------------------

7/9/17

Something definitely “Burned” for Seth Rollins - his inner frustration in how Wyatt ran circles around him in the ring, and his left eye from a well-placed, leather-clad thumb. The medics kept messing with his eye and slapping his own hands away from it as they tended to him, only multiplying the Kingslayer’s ire. His knee was bugging him too; ice packs were secured around it to keep that from swelling. He wanted off the training table to get away from all this “care”. He needed to clear his head, the night was already all wrong.

He mumbled out an excuse to find a restroom just to get away from all that attention. He’d been through worse, yeah his eye and knee hurt, but he needed some quiet, he needed some distance. He considered just passing out in the locker room or in his car until after the show, something he hadn’t done since his Ring of Honor days.

He pushed the men’s room door shut and locked it after checking all four stalls to make sure he was alone. Even then he went into the handicap stall and locked that, too. He paced, hands on his hips and brow furrowed, the match replaying in his head. _That’s not me, that wasn’t me, he’s a former WWE champ too, but that’s NOT how a match against that backwater neckbeard should go!_ He slammed a forearm into the concrete wall. He paced again, shaking out his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. Getting away from everyone wasn’t helping either, his brain refused to slow or silence. He caught his reflection in the mirror out of the corner of his eye and faced himself. He tried to lock eyes but kept looking away.

_hah hah hah haah…._

What would he be laughing about right now? That only made him angrier and this time he locked eyes with his reflection.

Another figure appeared behind him. Tall, lean, impeccably dressed in a black suit and tie, with half of his hair bleached blonde.

Himself. Three years ago. Grinning at him with mischief and satisfaction.

_You keep throwing things away. Friendships. Partnerships. Titles. Got anything left?_

Seth wheeled; no one there. This wasn’t like that weird Hogan/Warrior promo, he saw himself in the mirror… twice. Again he turned to it, and the Sharp Dressed Sellout leaned against the stall door, blocking the exit.

_No one trusts you. No one’s got your back._

“Roman - “ Seth started aloud. The Sellout cut him off.

 

_Fighting his own battles, he can’t save you. You can’t even save yourself._

“Get outta here -” Again Sellout cut him off.

 _Where would I go? I’m right here. You’re right here._ The apparition pushed off the door and took a step closer. _We’re right here._

Seth turned again; no one there. He whipped back around and punched the mirror. “GO AWAY!” He ordered in blind panic over the sound of shattering glass. He held his fist there a moment, the image of him touching fists with his brothers flashing in his head. The image flashed; Dean was gone. It flashed again; Roman was gone. Once more it flashed and Seth literally stood beside himself, who grinned at him before vanishing as well.

_Now you’re alllllll alone. Just me and me, hah hah haah…._

He turned away, sliding down the wall close to the shards of mirror spilled everywhere. His right hand bled from the strike. He didn’t care.

 _Alone,_ His defeated thought echoed.

\---------------------------------

7/9/17

 

Ali could lose himself all night in flight.

Not just crossbodies, moonsaults, his patented 054 inverted splash. The actual act of spreading his wings and propelling himself into the higher reaches of the arena as the show went on below. Kalisto was right; he felt much stronger when nothing touched the ground. _Do Luchas dream of this kind of flight?_ he mused as he closed on a dark corner just above the skyboxes. He wove between the struts with practiced ease, focusing on a strangely dwindling signal of the Irishman’s signature energies. Alighting on a platform between the struts, he closed in on a shadowy spot perfectly suited for a disguised demon to observe.

The revelation about Bray Wyatt’s lantern had sent him literally flying around backstage. He’d completely forgotten himself until he heard Enzo gabbing on his phone (on speaker, as usual). He landed quickly and jogged through the rest of the area, asking for the Irishman. It was only until late in Seth Rollins’ match did he even catch a trace of Finn’s energy, and the poor Chicago angel had to take the elevators up as high as possible before flying the rest of the way. This information was too important to sit on through the show.

“Finn?” He asked as loud as he dared, expecting his only find some terrified rigger having a late dinner in the highest confines. That’s his usual luck when he flies indoors. “Finn!” he called a little louder, strangely still thinking he should barely speak above a whisper. He closed in on that trace of dark energy. “Finn, I - “

He stopped right there, discovering an empty seat. The remaining signature faded as he folded his wings and just stared at the spot. He swung an arm and wing in frustration, sensing Finn was back in the locker room area.

“Why can’t I teleport?” he grumbled as he winged off over the set.

\---------------------------------------------

7/9/17

Bray Wyatt continued to chuckle to himself as he heard glass breaking somewhere backstage. He’d holed up in an empty office, keeping track of Seth as he slowly fell apart with despair. _Opening his Eyes would have been too quick,_ Wyatt thought to himself. _This festers._

The lantern flashed to life. “We felt a weakening,” the voices spoke in unison.

“This ‘Architect’ builds his monuments on clay and dust,” Bray laughed. “He’s come tumbling down, down, and down some more. Wherever he landed, he can be gathered.”

“Energies have stirred,” the lantern warned. “Holy energies. What gets an Angel’s attention?”

Bray peeked out the door, seeing Mustafa Ali jog by. “What does one do when the angels fly too close to the ground?” A second voice pondered.

A third voice within the lantern grew more concerned.“The Angel is searching. What does he seek?”

“A deal with the devil, perhaps…?” Wyatt leered into the lantern. “I can take care of this little demon problem now that your charges will soon lay at your feet.”

“What of Roman? You lost him before.”

“Thus this energy I bring. Feed my Black Sheep, and in the haze around him may Roman falter. Empires can crumble as quickly as they are built.”

The lantern began to glow brighter, flickering and smoking in purple and green. The image of Braun Strowman appeared in the reflective glass of the lantern, the power easing into his massive frame. The Monster among Men remained oblivious as he started lacing his boots for the evening. “Done,” the three voices reported.

“What again of my reward?” Bray Wyatt queried. “I have brought you thrall. I have leashed your charges. I have collared my Black sheep. Now where is my reward?”

“Prove Victory. Your reward only when these Hounds all belong to me, body and soul.” The lantern went dark.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out a LOT longer than I expected! But all of this detail is for good reason.

 

7/9/17

Ali finally hopped down one more flight of stairs before returning to the backstage area. His focus on finding Finn made him forget to trace his path to how he got up to the rafters in the first place. He hadn’t been to this arena often enough and certainly didn’t spend time in the dark confines like this. Getting lost cost him even more time; he’d lost track of Finn. He knocked on the Hardys’ door, only then hearing they were in the ring with Sheamus and Cesaro. He took a breath and put his hands to his hips, trying to stave off an internal lecture to himself. He had to keep looking, even if took him the rest of the show.

He paused at a men’s room backstage and tried the door. Locked. He knocked gingerly.

“Go away,” a weak voice responded.

“Is everything ok in there?” He jiggled the handle a few times.

“I said go away.” Ali recognized the nasally voice.

“Seth, are you all right?” the worried angel leaned into the door. “Let me in!”

“I said I’m fine!” Mustafa knew that tone, Seth was NOT fine. That was the voice of a frightened man. Did Wyatt Open his Eyes during the match?

“Seth,” Ali stopped pounding the door and spoke as calmly and firmly as he’d been trained. “I’m here to help you. Please open the door. Are you hurt?”

“No.” _Yes he was._

“Seth, please,” Ali implored. “I don’t know what happened out there but - “

His negotiation ended abruptly as Neville tackled him away from the door, snarling like a wounded bear. The two tumbled twenty feet across the concrete floor, Ali unable to breathe while Neville rained down punches and furious language.

“DON’T THINK I DIDN’T SENSE YA UP THERE!” He thundered, pinning Ali to the wall and holding him in place with one arm and wing. “Yer not above the rules, yer not above me! And if ya’d listened to Drew Gulak we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” his voice drastically dropped in volume, only increasing in intensity.  “No. Flying. Backstage.”

Ali coughed, unable to respond. Neville punched him again. “I warned you like I’ve had to warn Roman!” the King of the Cruiserweights seethed. “Now, I’m done warning! This time maybe I should trim those appendages so they still look like a pair o golden trophies that WON’T get ya off the ground!”

Ali forced one eye open as Neville pushed even harder against his chest. “There’s… danger…” he wheezed.

“You don’t know the half of it, lad!” Neville shoulder dropped and pushed harder.

“King… dom… danger…” Ali rasped as he felt his wings compressing harder against concrete. “Wyatt… thrall…”

“Bray Wyatt??” The dark fae growled. “He’s no threat. Whatever he did t’ Seth Rollins’ manhood is the fault of Seth Rollins!”

Only now did the angel loosen one of his forearms, reaching carefully toward Neville’s wing that helped brace the trapping arm. “Worse,” he managed.

“I’ll show ye worse-” Neville’s arm slipped mid-threat. Ali pushed free and tumbled aside.

“Look,” Mustafa panted, “Bray Wyatt is trying to do something to the guys who used to be part of the Shield.” He stumbled as he pointed to the locked door. “That man in there, you fought him for the top title two years ago. Do you remember that night?”

“Bringin up the past - why -”

Ali calmed himself, remembering this tactic to talk someone down. He didn’t want to get physical with Neville, and Rollins still barricaded in the bathroom. “Seth Rollins was the top Champion at the time.” Ali steadied himself as Neville caught his breath. “He’d sent John Cena home with a broken nose.” If Neville hated spotlights and show time being stolen, Cena’s name came up a lot.

“And??” Neville’s impatience palpable. “That’s got nothing t’ do with - “

“I’m trying to stop something from happening to that man!” Ali pointed at the door again. “Seth Rollins let you into the ring to fight for the title that night, while someone who ‘took time away’ from talent had to sit at home.”

“Yer point?!?”

Ali slowly broke into a smile. “You outsmarted the Architect that night. You outsmarted the Authority that night. Remember the ‘caveats’? Under six feet tall. Under 200 pounds. At the time, who on the roster fit that bill? Who got that WWE title shot*?”

Only now did the fae’s anger start to fade. Ali nodded again. “You two both were champions in NXT. He was a top champion and he still let the match happen. There was no interference. That’s what you wanted back then, right? A chance. He gave you that chance, even if he didn’t want to.

“No interference. No bait and switch. A fair fight.”

Neville looked to the door again; that match felt like a lifetime ago. “Like it or not, he was ‘King’ at the time,” Ali reminded him. “Remember that crowd? Do you remember that _thrall?”_

The stony, gargoyle-glaring facade cracked only slightly as the memory started to come back to him. The angel finally stepped forward, wings shut tight to his back. “Remember,” he repeated,  offering a hand.

Neville gave this outstretched hand a skeptical glance. He glared up at Ali anew. “Tell no one of this,” he hissed and wrapped both hands around Ali’s.

His eyes shut tight as the match replayed to him. The shouts of the crowd, the rallying voices, the brightest hopes in their cheers and righteous anger in every near-fall. His Red Arrow sharp, but the Architect just that half-step faster. But indeed, no shortcuts, no shenanigans. A clean match from the power-mad Rollins, still seeped in the Authority’s unspoken geas. He Remembered. His breathing slowed, his eyes opened to lock with Ali’s.

“What would you have me do, then?” He finally spoke, the timbre of his voice slightly lightened by this memory.

“Bray Wyatt still has control over Strowman. He’s been able to take all the thrall and convert it under both our noses. He’s using stolen thrall to keep Roman from succeeding. Who knows who else he might be doing this to? How many others are in danger?”

The King pondered this carefully. “It could clear the way for us to be brought back into the main roster.”

“It could, and your ambassador at that size would be Finn Balor.”

Neville steeled. “Don’t say it,” he warned.

“That he held the NXT title lon-” The left wing snapped out again. Ali was ready for it this time and blocked. “Longer than you. Kings recognize Kings here, Neville. Rollins did you that favor. Balor could use your favor.” The angel lowered his wing. “I could use a favor, but I’m way out of my league here.”

“Coddling Rollins isn’t my job, King or no. Find someone else for that business. Wyatt will pay for his theft.” Neville stomped off, no further pleasantries offered.

Ali exhaled and dropped to a knee, holding the wing that blocked Neville’s attack. _There’ll be a nice deep bruise there in the morning. Worth it._

 

 

 

*Match referenced is from Raw 8/3/2015. Go watch and enjoy!

\-------------------------------

7/9/17

Roman shook his head as he sorted out his gear for the night. “Keep crashing my locker room, Finn, people’ll start to talk.”

Finn sat at the edge of the bench again, still grinning brightly. “They talk about you, Roman, just not what the company wants to hear.”

“They’re making noise, that’s really all the company wants.”

Finn’s smile faded a bit. “Don’t tell me they’re getting to you.”

Roman shook his head no, but his voice said otherwise. “They want Strowman to tear me up even worse. I heard em. They cheer, they laugh, they want me to go away and not come back.”

“But you’re not listening to that.”

“Course not,” Roman lied. He scratched at his tattooed arm absently. “Tired of the ambulance rides, whether I need em or not.”

“And likely tired that your arm still isn’t working against Strowman.” Finn guessed his statement might get Roman’s arm to spark. It didn’t. “You had the drop on him Monday.”

“And I still can’t throw him,” Roman growled, right hand instinctively balling into a fist. Still nothing but a flow of Anger and Pride, which Finn savored as the Samoan stewed. “Everyone else - even Dean! - can get this to light up and - “

“And Dean can see it,” Finn affirmed.

“He was messin with it a couple of weeks ago. Almost got a black eye for it.”

“He’d have worn it with Pride because you got caught him with it,” Finn nodded in encouragement. “You chose not to ‘use’ that against me when we fought.”

“Don’t need it all the time. I DO need it against Strowman.”

Once again Finn reached a hand out to the tattooed arm. This time it sparked; mostly blue, but again traces of purple in it. “They still call you ‘Big Dog’ when you have that dog’s magic in there.”

“Still?!” Roman yanked his arm away, wishing he didn’t have his vest on already. “It won’t go away. Undertaker’s not putting it there, he finally got the message when we talked in Florida.”

Finn nodded as Roman’s Anger distracted him a moment. “Looks like it’s near the top of your shoulder. This part was put here first, I remember the early pictures.”

Roman nodded absently. “The rest I had added took a couple of days.”

Finn pulled his hand back and reached lower on the arm, A similar woven pattern snaked down just under Roman’s bicep. This part sparked a purer blue. “Different artists, but similar pattern here. This doesn’t have as much purple.”

“Shouldn’t have any at all,” the big Samoan growled. “And don’t put any …. whatever YOU got.. in there.”

Finn took offense to that. “Thrall is thrall. This is thrall and magic here. That purple is Cerberus magic, correct?”

“Stop messing with my arm. You’re worse than Ambrose.”

“I think I might have some of this figured out…” Finn retraced some of the other patterns on Roman’s arm, trying to peer around the inside of the bicep at the spearheads that blocked paths to other patterns. He put a fingertip to a spearhead and reeled from a much stronger and darker blue spark.

Roman was losing patience. “Are you done?”

“It’s not like the thrall is missing,” Finn affirmed, looking at the slight burn on his finger from the spear tip. “It’s refocusing as it goes down your arm. There isn’t any purple here,” he pointed at the spearheads, “or here,” he pointed to patterns below them. “But perhaps here-” he reached the slightly singed finger at the turtle he spotted on the inside of Roman’s wrist.

The next thing Finn new he’d slammed into the opposite wall of the locker room with Roman’s right hand wrapped around his throat. The Samoan’s eyes burned a proverbial hole through him and the arm pulsed a silvery blue. He couldn’t even cough out a word as Roman pressed, somehow not recognizing the Irishman he had in hand. “ **NO,** ” he boomed, the voice echoing like the inside of a war drum.

Finn weakly raised both hands in surrender, trying to force a smile without grinding his teeth in agony. “Sorry,” he coughed. The hand suddenly relaxed, the arm still pulsed with awakened energies. Roman’s glare softened when it dawned on him just how fast he reacted - and how much he reacted. It didn’t soften much.

“Friend or not, that’s out of bounds,” he warned, his voice much lower in volume but not in intensity. “Friend or not, you’re not family. That’s what all of this-” the arm flickered in agreement - “is for. Protecting my family.”

“All of your family…” Finn coughed again. Roman’s head tilted in query. “Your brothers,” the Irishman continued.

“Dean? He’s family. Seth? He’s still my little brother.” His arm didn’t calm much from the intrusion or question. “My wife, my children - that’s what I’m here for.”

Finn offered an apologetic glance. “But we got it working again. Now you should be able to take on Braun and put him in the ambulance tonight.”

Roman’s fist didn’t unclench as the energies started to die down. He watched the colors, the varying shades of blue, looking for any more traces of purple or whatever color Finn’s magic would be. Spotting nothing else, he took a very deep breath and let all the anger soak back into his arm. “It better.”

“Seth’s been struggling because of Wyatt,” Finn informed Roman. “And Dean is likely out there alone against Miz and the others. Your brothers need you as much as you need them.”

“I’ll knock their heads together tomorrow night. For now,” his eyes locked on Finn one last time. “I suggest you find someone else to pick on. Get out.”

\------------------------------------------------------------

7/9/17

Neville’s head whipped back when he sensed Roman’s thrall erupting again. He considered walking back to the Samoan’s locker room for another “Discussion” about setting off those fireworks and keeping his own word about not warning anyone anymore. He glanced in the direction of Strowman’s locker room, and knew Wyatt’s was further down the hall. _First that bloody angel, now him!_ It only made him angrier.

He paced, a few steps back toward Roman’s locker room, then turning back toward Strowman and Wyatt’s. _No. No one’s gone after Wyatt yet. No one’s talked to that lumbering mass Braun._

“Someone who could likely use some decaf,” a smooth voice interrupted Neville’s jumbled thoughts. The King of the cruisers wheeled in that new direction, only to come nose-to-chest with Cesaro. “Thought you’d already left, since your match was so early….”

“TOO early, Traveler. Not your business where I go or - “

Cesaro smirked, piqued by the title Neville gave him. “Do you even know where you’re going? Looks like a few things have your attention.” Cesaro remained calm on the edge of the stormy Cruiserweight. “I heard you yelling at Mustafa Ali about something earlier. Perhaps from a previous partnership? Though perhaps you suffered a demotion.”

“Don’t compare me to Ali!”

Cesaro made an apologetic gesture. “Just checking. Thought you might have been attracted to something down that way.” The Swissman pointed to the hall to Bray and Braun’s locker rooms. “Maybe even a Black sheep doesn’t stray far. And someone’s playing with energies they shouldn’t.” He frowned when he noted he was low on coffee. “Good luck, Seilie.”

Neville ignored the term and closed on the other two locker rooms, senses catching traces of death magics. Definitely “death” magics, but too familiar a death magic.

A trace of said magic whispered past his sensitive ears, nearly wrapping around one. With a swift motion of his hand and wing he broke the wafting strand, letting it re-weave itself before walking away. He cursed himself for not recognizing it immediately. He knew that shade of purple anywhere.

\-------------------------------------------------------

7/9/17

Mustafa Ali tried the handle to the mens’ room door one last time. “Can I at least come in, Seth?”

“Why?” came the weak response.

“You sound like you need help.”

Seth’s voice sounded more like a scared child’s than a grown man’s. “I said I’m fine. I’ll come out when I’m good and ready.”

Ali didn’t believe him. The despondence in Seth’s voice sounded much too familiar to the former policeman. The voice of a confused, scared and unwilling fugitive. “Seth, I need to come inside. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Please don’t.”

Ali relaxed his voice. “I promise I’m just checking in on you, man.”

“Did Roman send you?”

Ali blinked. “He may have,” Ali dodged. _He didn’t but if this gets me inside…_

“Never mind, go away.”

Mustafa had no intention of doing that. He crowded around the door handle to “cheat” the door open. _Neville shouldn’t ‘feel’ this._

Not even a locked door keeps a guardian angel from his duties. He admittedly could just phase through the door, but too many people would see that. He phased only his hand through the door to try and undo the lock and let himself in. It got him through a couple of negotiations but this was only a last resort.

“Seth…?” Ali peeked through the door, which thankfully didn’t squeak when he pushed in. No response this time. “Seth?” Ali asked again, entering the bathroom and quietly locking the door behind him.

“I don’t wanna talk right now, okay?” Not much resistance to Seth’s voice, so he likely meant that he needed to talk. It would still take some convincing on Ali’s part.

He could see Seth sat on the floor in the handicapped stall, still in his gear. “Seth, please tell me if you’re all right?”

“NO, if it’ll get you to stop asking me that!”

Ali crept closer. “All right. This isn’t about your match, was it?”

Seth mumbled something about Wyatt, giving Ali a couple more seconds to close in. He stopped dead when he saw shards of glass on the floor. “Did you get cut up from this?” He scraped some shards away from the outside of the locked stall. “Try not to move too much, I’ll have to find a broom.”

“Not going anywhere….” And Seth meant it.

Ali cleared a space for himself and got a better look at the floor. The shards scattered mostly inside the stall, but the sheer force of what shattered it explained the wide debris field. He spotted a few drops of blood on the floor near Seth’s right side. “You’re bleeding? Where are you bleeding from?”

“My hand,” the matter-of-fact reply.  

“Let me see your hand,” Mustafa made a firm request. His eyebrows raised when the hand was indeed offered, the palm mostly clean but the knuckles bloodied from the strike. He brought both hands up to slowly turn the knuckles toward him so he can get a closer look. “Did something go wrong during the match, Seth?”

“No.”

“Ok, so all this is just from being in here.” He kept his movements methodical, pretending to inspect the hand further. Since Seth couldn’t see him, Ali closed his eyes and decided to see where Seth’s head is at. _Been wanting to do this with Roman….._

He entered Seth’s mind to blackness, sorting at first through the chatter and clamor of memories. A spotlight pierced the darkness, over a younger, fresh-faced Seth, wearing a plain t-shirt, jeans and a cap. His hair was half blonde, his brown eyes peering upward into the spotlight, as though looking for the source.

“What do you they call you here?” A deep voice echoed around him.

“Seth Rollins,” the young man answered.

“What do you seek, ‘Seth Rollins’?” A second voice, almost as deep but just as loud queried.

“I want to be a King in this business. I want to be at the top of the mountain.”

“What will you do for this?” A third, gravelly voice spoke. “What will you sacrifice for this goal?”

“Whatever it takes,” this Seth Rollins replied without hesitation.

“‘Whatever it takes’ to become a King,” the first voice repeated. “So shall it be.”

The spotlight began to glow brighter, closer to a brilliant white. The simple circle then slowly morphed into a triangular symbol, a stylized loop of three canine heads.

Ali tensed, desperately trying not to recoil from the shock of dark energies of even gazing on the guardian of Hell. The light may have been brilliant white but it was by no means pure. He refocused, continuing to sift through Seth’s memories from there.

The night Seth broke up the Shield came into very sharp focus. Strangely, Ali could see it from two different angles. He could see it from Seth’s point of view as he slammed a chair into Roman’s back, then buried it into Dean’s midsection before having to club him unconscious with it. Another view, almost from a second “camera”, would switch back and forth from his fallen brothers to the smug smirk on Triple H’s face, mic in one hand and sledgehammer in the other. He looked like a proud father as Seth continued to swing, this second angle starting to cloud up. The point of view shot tinted everything gray. What was going on here?

_“whatever it takes….”_

Again Ali shivered. Breaking the Shield broke Seth. That had to be the explanation. He looked again through some of the Authority memories to a haunting sight:

(credit: @Oniwanbashu)

Rollins in his black suit, hair tied back and smirking into the mirror as his shirtless, wild-haired former self made angry, unheard demands. The only thing the two Seths agreed upon appeared to be that Dean Ambrose became a stalking monster in some grindhouse movie that could show up _anywhere._

Ali fast-forwarded to the knee injury, where the two Seths were forced to co-exist. Both had the same goal of getting that knee back in shape for a return to the ring. The debate raged between them over what that return would look like. Suit Seth just wanted to pick up where he left off, noting all the success they had together. Shirtless Seth refused, and the two would argue all through rehab.

As their debates escalated past Summerslam and Seth’s loss to Balor, Suit Seth started to gain some ground, even after Triple H abandoned Seth to put the Universal Title on Kevin Owens. Both Seths hated Triple H, but Suit Seth wanted to leave the “business associates” in the dust. Shirtless Seth tried again to put his foot down, but it was harder this time. Suit Seth now wore a dark purple tie with his black ensemble, which Ali recognized almost immediately.

Cerberus wanted his Hound back. All this clawing and fighting was a literal war for his soul. He didn’t want to do this again through Cerberus, now that power scared him into a deadly illusion of complete abandonment. These recent memories still had little to no sign of Roman nor Ambrose. No sign of anyone, orchestrated by the doppleganger in the purple tie.

Ali finally opened his eyes; in real time, only a few seconds had passed.

“You asked me about Roman,” Ali began as casually as he could with the new information on his mind. “He’s still got his ambulance match later tonight.”

“I want to see that match.” Seth replied distantly.

“And Dean’s?”

“Dean’s an idiot.” Seth’s confidence started to come back. “He probably out there getting his head handed to him by Miz and his flunkies. Called himself a ‘boogeyman’ or some stupid crap and thinks he can take out three guys….” Rollins almost put his other hand down to stand up, spotting the shattered mirror all around him. “Oh no…”

“Can you reach the door latch?” Ali suggested. “Use that to get your feet under you, then you could reach either the bar or the coat hook to pull yourself up. We need to get you to the trainer’s room to see if there’s any shards in your knuckles.”

Seth braced against the stall and pushed his backside off the floor. One hand found the balance railing, which was enough to get him standing. He steadied and let himself out, spotting Ali washing his hands thoroughly.

“So what about Dean?” Ali asked again as he turned away to grab some paper towels. Rollins didn’t answer. “Seth?” He turned back around, seeing the Architect looking at his bloodied fist, mind racing.

Memories jumbling together. That clenched fist meant something. _Was_ Seth alone in this battle? He blinked, realizing the show was still going on. “Wait, what match are we on, anyway…?”

\---------------------------------------

 

7/9/17

Balor returned to his “nest” in the rafters to check on the progression of the show. He hadn’t heard or seen Ambrose most of the evening and felt almost relieved for it. He still smarted from Roman’s sudden attack and needed a few minutes to mend.

It cheered him up a little to see Dean stride out to the ring, counting up his opponents before giving it a shrug and hitting the ring anyway. If anyone could take those odds, it was definitely Dean Ambrose. He’d pound on Miz, then incapacitate Bo; go back to Miz, then incapacitate Axel; go back to Miz, and if it were the Attitude Era, Dean would kiss Maryse just for the look on Miz’s face.

 _Dean’s got this,_ Finn shrugged to himself before teleporting backstage again. He appeared in an empty locker room and stretched out. He gathered his thoughts as he sensed Mustafa Ali nearby. _I’ve news for him, too._

The Irishman left the locker room, spotting Mustafa Ali emerging from the trainer’s room, looking a little flustered. “Ali!” he called to the angel.

The angel turned in Finn’s direction and started marching toward him. “Where have you been!?” he demanded. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you! I’ve got some infor-”

Finn let it sink in for Ali that they couldn’t talk in the hall. They both walked back to the locker room that Finn just left.

“Seriously!” Ali continued to rant as he locked the door. “I’ve been looking for you since the second match! I’ve had to put out some fires and just dropped Seth Rollins off in the trainer’s room.”

“I probably should have gone there myself,” Finn gestured at his neck. “Roman lost his temper -“

Ali imagined the amount of damage that could cause. “Do I have to put THAT fire out too?!”

“This ‘fire’ he needs,” Finn clarified. “I got the thrall in his arm working again. There’s still some of Undertaker’s magic in it.”

“Bray Wyatt’s magic,” Ali corrected. “he’s moving energy around by converting it from thrall to magic. That’s the real use of the Lantern, now.” Ali glanced back toward the door. “Neville might start something with Wyatt or Strowman before Roman’s match, I’ve had to watch out for that. Have you talked to Dean?”

“Haven’t had time,” Finn playfully shrugged. “Talked to the Hardys, then talked to Roman, then had to heal up when Roman nearly put me through the wall.”

Ali blinked in surprise. “I know he’s strong-”

“He’s a _Samoan,_ ” Finn emphasized. “They can all do that. I just happened to press the wrong button. Though come to think of it, since it ignited his thrall maybe it was the right button…”

Ali shifted uneasily at Finn’s lighthearted tone. “And you made him Angry.”

“So Angry he forgot who or what I was and took me off guard.” _Mmmm, Anger and Wrath. As “fast food”,_ Balor grinned to himself.

Ali started to add up Finn’s night, noting his strangely satisfied smile. “So you were up in the rafters during Seth Rollins’ match-”

“Where Bray Wyatt picked Seth apart and destroyed his Pride.”

Ali frowned. “He did a lot worse than that. Seth’s got a waking nightmare going on in his head and it looks like it’s Cerberus related, too. You didn’t think to look there?”

“His Pride was intact when I went to talk to Zenith and Enigma, why did I need to?”

Ali exhaled, trying to keep his composure. “Ok. From there, you talked to the Hardys.”

“And they told me that Strowman’s still tied to Wyatt somehow which means even if Roman’s thrall works he might be in trouble.”

“Cesaro had his theories and all of this is starting to add up.” Ali recalled what he could of the conversation. “Wyatt converts the thrall to magic to get it to Strowman. I guess Strowman’s tattoos convert it back to thrall like Roman’s…”

Balor again shrugged, almost indifferent. Ali paled. “You don’t realize where any of this is going, do you?”

“All I know is that getting the Shield back together is supposedly the solution, but getting there hasn’t been that easy…”

“Liar.”

“Pardon?”

“Liar!” Ali stepped up to Finn. “You’ve been letting a lot of this happen. I figured out more about this in the last two hours than you have in the last three months!”

“I’ve had other issues, that includes Neville, Roman, Undertaker, and especially _you_.”

“But all through this you’ve just been soaking up Sin while they continue to fight, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been helping-” Finn started protesting.

Ali cut him off. “In the absolute slowest way possible. What did Undertaker ask you to do?”

“Try to get the Shield back together. Dean’s not interested even if he Understands, Roman’s had to deal more with Undertaker and Seth Rollins is Blind. But Callomah also said my power would be enough if Cerberus wants to invade-“

“Cerberus can’t be freed - at ALL!” Ali shouted. “All that death magic - all of Undertaker’s magic - what Wyatt’s been using and targeting each member of the Shield... you could have fixed this so much sooner!” The angel locked eyes with Balor. “What were you waiting for?”

Briefly transfixed under an Angel’s Gaze, even the Demon King is forced to tell the truth. “Waiting? I’ve been _feasting.”_

Ali broke the gaze, horrified at the Demon’s voice erupting from Finn’s human mouth. Finn then started laughing, first in almost triumph before descending into howling madness as the human features fell away, maw wide and glistening. _“All this Anger, all this Wrath - all the Envy and Greed, the Lust when I am in mortal presence! Never could I have found a source so endless! And tonight, the Anger and Wrath of Roman Reigns and Braun Strowman will be an unparalleled feast! This can wait one more night, then perhaps - “_

Ali finally ran out of patience. “This isn’t a game anymore,” he began slowly. His wings started to deliberately unfurl, gaze still locked with Balor’s. “Your kind rarely care for mortals and would play with them as much as children play with toys. You were tasked to stop a supernatural catastrophe and in your laziness you’ve done nothing but continue to stir the pot. It’s not like Sin is going to go away if you help these three if they can’t help themselves or even understand they’re in danger.”

 _“I told Callomah that if a demon war broke out in the living plane, that ‘we’ would win,”_ the demon smirked. _“And he had nothing to give for my ‘service’. So I’ll feed until I am ready.”_ He attempted his own Gaze on Ali. _“And what can you offer, Angel? What deal will you make with the Demon King?”_

Ali closed his eyes. “Finn is a friend, and he would help these three. Why can’t you?”

_“Finn is here too. He would say the same thing.”_

Ali disagreed. “Don’t force me to Speak, Balor. Your only warning.”

_“What words do you have that can harm the Demon King? You are a mere guardian like Callomah.”_

“It’s not necessarily the words,” Ali’s eyes slowly opened. “But how you force me to say it.”

_“You’re not of rank among Angels to have that Voice!”_

“I am not just an Angel. I am Light, I am Hafaza among a Host who bring Light to a darkened world. My Light cannot be extinguished.”

 _“Hafaza?”_ This was a new term to the Demon King, lowering his guard just enough for Ali’s next move.

“ **BALOR,”** Ali erupted in full Holy Voice. A voice that few creatures had defense, a voice that could shatter a mortal’s ears. **“I am Hafaza among a Host who bring Light to a darkened world. You WILL Listen to me now.”**

The Voice raked across Balor’s skin and ears like molten fire. He refused to scream; he snarled and howled and staggered backward as though pushed by hurricane winds. He could feel damp spots on his blocking arms, as reddish-black blood oozed from the burns. His eyes watered from the searing pure heat of Ali’s anger and frustration. He could barely put two words together in protest as Ali’s wings arced slightly upward, the darkened locker room now flush with golden light. No shadows remained for the Demon to hide from this all-seeing presence.

 _“How… dare…”_ Balor sputtered as the light continued to sear him.

“This was the only way you were going to listen to me!” Ali protested. “You’re just waiting for things to get so bad that you’ll look more the hero in saving them! You WANT that Idolatry from this side of things? Isn’t what the mortals that watch you enough?”

Balor only snarled and continued to back away. The angel closed in. “Something tells me they can be as much a part of the solution as you can. **But we can’t wait any longer."**  Balor reeled as the angel forced him back. **"** Wyatt has had time to gain power as much as you have. Are you going to let a simple swamp priest outwit you? Possibly overpower you?”

Balor now had his back to the wall again, wincing and growling from the Holy light showering down on him. _“Back!”_ He protested, raising one hand in unsteady surrender. _“Back…”_

Ali paused, seeing Balor’s hand start to blister and bleed from the light. “Small price to pay for your laziness. How does it feel being at someone else’s mercy for once?”

“Just… please, back up…” this time it was Finn’s voice making the request. Ali slowly relaxed, allowing the Light to slowly fade and his wings to close. Ali took no joy in the sight of a demon’s scorched flesh or the submissive posturing as its own tacit plea. The angel turned away.

“Now will you help get this plan in motion? The Undertaker may no longer be here, but you know he’s likely still watching and listening.”

He listened to the pained breathing behind him, a voice trying to answer despite that pain. When the answer didn’t come, Ali spoke again. “I’ll use the line that was used when the Shield had their differences, then chose to work together: ‘are we done here? or are we… done?’”

“ _We_ will _help_ them,” both voices spoke, which sounded odd to Ali’s ears. He could still hear the ragged breathing as he guessed the two of them were “pulling themselves together”. He refused to turn around, worried that he might have overdone it; then again, the Demon chose to let things escalate. Why didn’t Finn stop him? Maybe the better question was why didn’t Finn push this farther along?

“Finn,” Mustafa started carefully. “I need you to see what you can do about the nightmare in Seth’s mind. I’ll talk to Dean when he gets back from his match.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Finn replied. No trace of the Demon’s voice this time. “Seth doesn’t need any more going on in his head than what he puts there.”

Only then did Ali turn to help Finn to his feet. The Irishman’s skin had some red welts but no major damage. “I’m sorry, Finn, but your ‘friend’ pushed me there.”

“No, it’s okay,” Finn finally caught his own breath. “We’ve got a job to do.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the rest of Great Balls of Fire!
> 
> Every scene in here is happening roughly about the same time once the match is underway. 
> 
>  
> 
> (art credit to @AlterEgoZowie)

7/9/17

Neville heard the beeping of an ambulance being backed into the main arena.  _ So the Monster and their so-called “Big Dog” will fight over that?  _ He rolled his eyes despite his own curiosity. He’d wanted a better look at this “Monster among Men”, who had been wrecking the company’s golden boy for most of the calendar year. He liked power like that. It reminded him of himself against the rest of the division he had conquered.

It amused him even further when he could feel the footsteps of said Monster as he emerged from his locker room. Curiously, Braun Strowman paused a moment to glance at the first door he passed: Wyatt’s door.

_ That so, swamp snake?  _ The King of the Cruiserweights decided to see if this Monster had his own mind. He deliberately walked into Strowman’s path, expecting to be knocked aside. The giant stopped, annoyed.

“You’re in my way,” a statement and warning from the Monster among Men.

“Just crossing paths,” Neville not-so-innocently replied.  “So where IS yer head at?”

“Roman Reigns,” Strowman spat the name out like a curse. “Now get out of my way.”

“That all?” Neville smirked. “Do you like punishing him? Is it a good release when there’s something else knocking around in yer head?”

Strowman didn’t respond immediately; Neville chose this moment to get a better “look” at Braun. He could see the purple traces from earlier, wound around the massive man’s body and settling across the elaborate tattoo on his shoulder. The purple slowly turned a deep orange as it crossed there, on his right arm, and likely a flicker or two on his back. “Don’t cross my path again,” he said simply and walked around the fae. 

Neville watched him go with a smirk on his face.  _ Clever Wyatt. Let Reigns get more of that punishment tonight. _

\-----------------------------------------

7/9/17   
  


“I JUST GOT MY ASS KICKED BY THE MIZ STREET POSSE~?! GODDAMN~~~”

The trainers trying to help an angry and embarrassed Dean Ambrose to the back had a few bruises of their own from the Lunatic’s flailing elbows. They tried to keep a towel close to his bloodied mouth but he’d have none of that. He got in his shots on Bo, Axel and Miz, but none of them were staying down. “That’s not how this fucking works! I’m supposed to beat all three of em!” Fists started flying anew as they closed in on the trainer’s room. “I’m NOT hurt! Lemme go!” 

Ali rounded the corner just in time as Dean spun hard on one heel, lunging at whoever tried to grab him from behind. He put his back to the wall and both hands up, eyes wide and daring any of the agents, referees or actual EMTs to step up. “I’m. Not. HURT!” He repeated slowly, glare and emphasis pushing everyone away. He was still breathing hard from the match and being hauled backstage against his will, but he had plenty left for anyone else if they wanted to bleed with him.

Mustafa took a few deliberate steps forward, catching Dean’s wild blue eyes. “Outnumbered,” he said simply. “Outgunned. Doesn’t matter who they were, Dean.”

“Not now, Flyboy  - I’ll knock ALL your teeth down your - “

“Let him go, guys!” he called to the agents and others. “Trainer’s room is full right now.”

Dean still had his hackles up, watching everyone slowly back away from him and disperse. “Yeah,” Dean taunted between breaths. “Back off, I don’t need to waste their time replacing a trainer.” He glanced back and forth between Ali and the others.

“There’s enough going on back here without someone else having a meltdown,” Ali warned. 

“So what do YOU want? You bored or somethin?” Dean’s right fist smacked into a palm, both a request and a dare. “If not, I’m gonna go get me a hot dog and watch cartoons on my phone.” 

Ali closed in on Dean as he started to amble away. “What about your -”

“Oh this?” Dean pointed to the bloodied mouth. “Get me a bottle of water or something, I’ll be fine.” 

“If I brought you some water, can we talk for a few minutes? I’ll try not to keep you too long.”

Dean pointed to the men’s room that Seth had previously barricaded himself in. “This ‘private’ enough for you? Or do you need some blood or holy water to lock it down?” Ambrose casually stuck a finger in his mouth and wiped some blood out of it. “Here, I’ll put my logo up first….”

“The lock on the door works,” Ali hastily reached for Dean’s hand, missing as Dean casually spun aside to try again.

“Oh, sorry, not pure enough blood for you?” Dean wagged the bloodied finger at Ali, who backed off..

“Actually, Dean, I heard you cursing in the hallway, so no, it’s not.”

Dean’s face erupted in a cherubic grin before exploding in a genuine laugh. “FINALLY! Someone back here with a sense of humor! All this gloom and doom going on and someone finally cracks a decent joke! Let’s keep that up, maybe I’ll listen for more than five seconds!” He sauntered over to a nondescript door, fussed with the handle, and showed the angel into a previously locked office.

\----------------------------

7/9/17

Roman Reigns marched through the curtain to the usual conflicting cacophony of cheers and boos. He let the noise wash over him, along with the dashes of thrall that reaction always brought. His attention continued to linger on the ambulance, almost a warning to the vehicle to steer clear of him.  _ Not my turn to ride,  _ he assured himself and warned the ambulance.  __ Despite his opponent awaiting him in the ring, the Samoan’s attention turned back several times to the vehicle. His previous rides resurfaced in his mind - between Braun flipping the ambulance while he was still strapped to a gurney wasn’t fun, nor was his “accidental” ride in Los Angeles. He tried to picture how he would cram a 385 pound man in a space more suited for people half that weight. He tried to lock eyes with Strowman, who stood dead center of the ring, awaiting his prey. 

Roman had trouble meeting that gaze. His eyes drifted back to the crowd, the lights, the noise! Something kept pushing his eyes away from the monster in the ring with him. Braun had no such issue; his glare refused to turn away from the Big Dog’s presence, the red of the lights and logos amplified by an inner fury whenever Roman appeared.  

That fury translated almost immediately once the bell rang. So much so that Roman felt more compelled to dodge than swing. And when he did get a chance to swing, each blow landed square, to zero effect. A second swing only awakened the Monster more and Reigns found himself on the mat, then thrown around the ring by his vest straps. 

_ Still can’t throw this guy,  _ Roman worried anew.  _ Hell can’t even SLOW this guy…. _

A haze fell over his vision as he lay on the mat, the intense glare of Braun Strowman only amplifying the pain from each throw. His chest and sides tightened, ribs creaking with every collision. Strowman kicked his opponent out of the ring in partial boredom. At least this time, Roman landed on his feet.  

Braun gave the Samoan little time to catch his breath, paw grabbing for the vest again. This time Roman outmaneuvered the monster and slammed him into the ringpost. He couldn’t close on the monster as his breathing became more labored. His right arm wrapped around his midsection, feeling for bruises or a cracked rib. 

He staggered back toward Braun, gently pushing the ref aside. Strowman awaited his prey and started throwing him around again. First into the ringpost, then into the steps. Roman sprawled on the ground, even his left arm starting to throb from the abuse. It distracted him from his right arm; the tattoos once again dormant, unable to assist. It didn’t register in his haze of pain and confusion that Braun himself had not bothered to taunt, focusing solely on dishing out more and more punishment. 

Reigns dove back to the “safety” of the ring, hoping Braun wouldn’t bring the dented steps with him. He increased his offense on the Monster, staggering him with kicks and punches. A lariat slammed across the giant’s chest, and he did not give. 

Roman paused, blurred vision not hiding the non-effect of his attacks. He staggered back into a corner to “Force” his thrall to activate, Howling to the heavens to perhaps knock Braun down with an early Spear. Braun not only stopped him but powerslammed him into the mat, instinctively covering for a moment before getting back to his feet, still in some sort of emotionless trance.

_ Gotta be Wyatt in there someplace,  _ Roman realized. His body refused to respond to his orders to get up; his arm refused to spark in the face of this giant danger. No backup this time; he hadn’t seen Dean or Seth all night. 

_ “One versus all”… is gonna bite me in the ass tonight, isn’t it?  _

 

\---------------------------

7/9/17

Mustafa Ali managed to flag down some stagehands to bring water and a big basket of french fries to the office Dean commendered. The Cincy native grabbed the executive chair and had his feet up on another, lounging and rambling about some incident in Indianapolis where he fought a guy in a gravel parking lot. 

“I know you don’t have me in here just to tell you road stories,” Dean finally accused Ali. “You didn’t want me kicking anyone else’s ass after the beating I took out there? Against two guys who haven’t won a match on their own in what, three years? In Bo’s case, you can even count house shows, at least Axel gets to win in Minnesota.” He leaned forward in his seat, blue eyes casually locking with Ali’s. “I’m not about apologies, anything I’ve done wrong was in self defense and pretty damn funny.”

“I’m not that kind of Angel, Dean. You’re no angel yourself.”

Dean shrugged. “At least I can admit it. So seriously, you looking for advice? I’ve done enough crazy shit in this business I can probably save you from stuff you shouldn’t do.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could help you out with Miz and the Miztourage.”

“Sorry, too many bridges burnt, I work alone.”

“What about Roman? And why not Seth?”

Dean rankled at the mention of the Architect. “Roman, he knows where he can find me. And he can shout loud enough that I’d hear him back here. Seth Rollins,” he contemplated for a moment. “No. Seth’s little ‘redemption tour’ doesn’t fool me for one second. He likes having the big corporate machine behind him. He can come crying to me all he wants, but no way am I going to him for help.”

“And what if he did ask? Would you help him?”

“I dunno,” Dean mocked his interrogator, “Would I? And why should I?” He hastily grabbed a handful of fries and crammed them in his mouth so he didn’t have to answer his own question. 

“Isn’t that what brothers do…?” Ali queried. “After all, the Shield-”

“DON’T go there!” Dean managed through a mouthful. He downed some water and stood up. “Seth’s got a LOT more ‘redemptioning’ to do before I help him out. Hell, I’d come to 205 Live and help you first, since you don’t stab others in the back. Do you stab people? You one of those ‘holy sword’ angels?”

Again Ali demurred, remembering that Dean could see his wings. “Only if I’m saving someone from a real danger.”

Ambrose really wanted to see that sword. “So is this what this is about? Me forgiving a guy who broke up the most powerful team that WWE has ever seen? We don’t need each other anymore, we’re all top champions.” He reached for some more fries. Ali snapped his hand out and actually caught Dean’s wrist. 

_ There!  _ Ali made the proverbial leap into Dean’s mind. 

He entered Dean’s mind to a much deeper blackness, much darker than Seth’s. The voices and sounds a jumble of arguments, screams, slamming doors and police sirens. He sought that same spotlight memory, guessing that Cerberus had done the same for Dean as he had done for Seth and likely Roman.

It took longer to find, but it was certainly there - a spotlight piercing the darkness, over a younger, scruffy-haired Dean, wearing a dirty t-shirt, ripped jeans and old sneakers. His hands were stuffed in the jeans pockets, his shoulders swaying slightly as he impatiently waited for something to happen.

“What do you they call you here?” A deep voice echoed around him.

“Dean Ambrose, I guess,” the young man answered. 

“What do you seek, ‘Dean Ambrose’?” A second voice, almost as deep but just as loud queried.

“What do I seek?” Dean repeated. “To be honest, I’m gonna seek someone clean out of my head!” 

Dean reached out of the spotlight and retrieved a chainsaw. “A little PRIVACY please??” He snarled, revving the chainsaw and actually marching toward Ali. “Get OUT!” 

The order thrust the angel out of Dean’s head. Ali staggered backward, sprawling into a cluster of chairs. His wings had somehow opened and his head throbbed from Ambrose’s angry demand. The real Ambrose stood over him, that same angry, deadly focused glare locked on him.

“You had to actually go INSIDE my head just because you wanna do some sort of ‘divine intervention’ on me?” Dean snarked, this time grabbing a handful of feathers and pulling them free. “Are these real gold?” he turned away to look them over. “If they weighed a little more I could make some quick cash.”

 

“OW!!” Ali yelped, yanking the wing back. “I was trying to see - “

Dean didn’t listen, still looking at the feathers he pulled. “Huh, maybe not. That’s what you get for sticking those out where I can reach it. Fair trade for the brain probe.”

Ali’s eyes watered a bit as Dean reached for a couple more feathers. “And THIS,” Dean punctuated as he pulled a couple more, “is for thinking it’s easy to just say ‘hey, let’s get the Shield back together’! Newsflash, Saint Michael, Miz and his buddies are gonna have even more to worry about with me tomorrow!” 

Ali yelped again.“Dean, I was just - “

Ambrose crouched, feathers in the palm of his hand. “You were just trying to help,” he mocked before blowing the feathers back in Ali’s face. “Go back to your little buddies on Tuesday nights and - “

A thundering crash echoed through backstage. Dean sprinted out the door without another word.

\-------------------------------------

7/9/17

Seth winced and grumbled as the trainers rinsed out his bloodied hand. He didn’t remember at that moment why he’d punched a mirror, and stifled a Dean Ambrose joke while wracking his brain over it.  _ If I’m gonna punch Dean, he’s gotta give me a better reason than trying to pull a rib in the bathroom.  _

They didn’t give him any more ice for his knee and only gave his eye a cursory glance. One trainer had to coax him to open his fist so they could make sure he could still move his fingers. He hadn’t realized he hadn’t unclenched said fist until that moment; he’d stared down those bloodied knuckles before Ali walked him to the trainer’s room. Ali then stepped outside and Seth had heard a lot of yelling; wonder if everything else is okay? 

The trainer told him that Roman’s match had started, so some of the yelling may have been Ambrose’s. He wasn’t surprised, especially if Dean lost;  even if he could hear Dean he could barely understand him at his angriest. He glanced at his iced knuckles and fretted a bit. “I’m not gonna lose ring time over this, right?”

“It just looks ugly,” the trainer replied. “Just making sure that there’s nothing still in there. You’ll be out there tomorrow.”

Both turned to the opening door, as Finn leaned a little on the jamb as he came in. “Got a table open?” 

The trainer anxiously helped Finn to a seat. “It’s been a busy night. What happened to you?”

“Nothin serious.”

The trainer looked over the welts on Finn’s arms and shoulders. “These look like…. burns?”

Finn locked eyes with the trainer. “ _ It’s not serious,”  _ his voice strangely strained. The trainer stiffered in place.

“It’s not serious,” he repeated almost mechanically. “I need to get these ice packs back to a freezer.” He gathered several gel packs and hastily left the room. Only now did Finn relax a little, glancing up at the perplexed Rollins.

Rollins gave Finn a worried look of his own. “You’re definitely not ‘okay’.”

“Nothing he could help me with anyway.” Finn pushed to his feet. “Ali sent me.”

“Why does everybody have to check up on me? I’m fine, I need to go watch Roman’s match.”

“He should be fine, I talked to him earlier…” Finn played up a mischievous smile. “I think I got him riled up for the bout.”

“You know how hard it is to get his temper going? If his fuse was as short as Dean’s there’d be nothing left of the arena!” 

Finn nodded. “Quite literally. I saw your match.”

“Wanna trade?” Rollins laughed sadly. “Worst outing ever. I can’t remember having a match that bad in a long time. Dunno where my head was at.”

“Or your hand?” Finn glanced at the bloodied knuckles.

“I think I punched a mirror. Is that still seven years bad luck?” 

The Irishman chuckled. “It’s only bad luck if you believe it.” 

“I’m only asking because of all the ‘luck’ I’ve had since Wrestlemania,” Seth looked at his fist and slapped the table with his other hand. “I Swear, something goes wrong just as I get momentum. I’ve got no backup - “

“No ‘Plan B’?” Finn quipped. Seth glared down at him.

“I’m trying to get as far away from THAT as I can!” Seth snapped. He paused to take a very deep breath. “Look, I thought I was on the right path. It just keeps going more and more wrong. Like I’m another injury away from a forced vacation…” he looked at his hand again and sighed. 

“You’re not alone in that,” Finn pointed at his repaired shoulder, then to Seth’s repaired knee. “We’ve both had some delays in getting back to where we want to be. It takes time. It takes a little luck, too.”

“I need some good luck to get me back on track.” A slow smirk appeared on Seth’s face. “Any truth to ‘Luck of the Irish’?” 

“So you do believe in such things,” it was Finn’s turn to smirk. “Not my strong suit, but couldn’t hurt… can you move yer fingers well with that hand?”

Seth smirked even more, raising them in the “Too Sweet” salute. Finn allowed himself a laugh.  _ At least he’s making this easier for me.  _

“All right then, let me see…” The Irishman pretended to think one up as Seth kept the hand signal ready. “Just don’t laugh, a’right?”

Seth shrugged, still smirking. Finn knew at least Rollins would be a willing target. That made Finn’s job a great deal easier, and in his weakened state from his argument with Ali he’d need all the help he could get. 

“ May the dreams you hold dearest, Be those which come true, The kindness you spread, Keep returning to you.” Finn raised the trademark gesture and tapped it against Seth’s outstretched right hand. A faint swell of Pride brightened his smile. “That was lame.”

Seth leaned forward. “No no no, it’s fine, at least you’re - “

Finn’s hand snapped up to Seth’s forehead, the gesture almost pecking Seth between the eyes. Rollins body froze almost unnaturally, paused in real time. Finn took a deep breath. “Now to get the dog out of your head. You’re gonna have to trust me.” 

Seth sat still as a statue, perhaps not even hearing Finn’s voice. Finn knew he’d have to act fast, though Seth didn’t really “know” enough to stop him. Finn closed his eyes.

_ We go in together. Hope you’re healthy enough for this,  _ Finn warned his “other half”. 

A sudden flash in Finn’s vision, and he appeared in a room that reminded him of the television trucks. But MUCH bigger. The walls nothing but a field of monitors, each flashing images of Seth at work, from the smallest independents to VFW halls in Ohio to Ring of Honor to NXT. They replayed parts of matches both from his point of view and from video footage of varying quality. Overwhelmed at first, Finn tried to focus on a couple of the monitors at a time, seeking rhyme or reason to which images came up. He couldn’t touch the monitors. There were no controls to them. 

He watched them in consternation; much of it was solo work, except for a looping video of him beating down Dean and Roman the night he broke up the Shield. Nothing of his title victories, anywhere. Nothing of his days running with the Shield or being assisted by J&J or Kane when he was aligned with the Authority.

“Alone,” Finn whispered.

“You’re smarter than you look,” cackled a familiar voice. “”Welcome to one of the busiest places in the wrestling business, where it really IS all in my head.”

Finn found that voice way too happy and triumphant. “Seth?”

“I’m right here,” the voice sounded closer. Finn turned to his left, seeing Rollins proudly watching all the monitors. He had his two-tone hair neatly tied back, and he tugged absently at the purple cufflinks of a mostly-black suit. “It’s amazing what one man can do. And even more amazing when the desperation sets in when it’s only one man, the one in the mirror, right? Hah ha hah hah haah….”

Finn tensed at the laugh. “You’re not Seth Rollins.”

“I’m not?” This Seth looked himself over, from the ponytail to the suit to even the polished jet black shoes. “If I’m not Seth Rollins, are you Seth Rollins? Because this is Seth Rollins’ head, and only Seth Rollins should be in here.”

“He needs to get out of his own head sometimes,” Finn glared. “And in your case with a leash.”

Seth smirked even harder. “Kinky. I didn’t think you’d be into stuff like that. Then again, you dress up like some bizarre Cirque Du Soleil act and crawl around on all fours. That leash might look better on you.” 

Finn chose his next question carefully. “Aren’t you wearing a leash right now? Or is it a chain?” He caught a small break in Seth’s expression. “And where is the real Seth Rollins?”

“Oh, the  _ real _ Seth Rollins?” He turned gave a flashy mock-bow, showing off a distinctly purple tie. “I didn’t realize you wanted a formal introduction.”

The monitors started to flash, leaving single images of Seth’s haunted face as he backed away from his demolished brothers. “This one? This is the best version, I think.” Finn started to fume. “Not a fan, are you? This is what the Business is all about, isn’t it? Whatever it takes.”

“‘Whatever it takes’?” Finn repeated angrily. “Is your Pride a price you were willing to pay?”

“And paid in full.” This Seth strangely smug.

Finn started marching toward this smug Seth in a suit. “You don’t belong here.”

“My head, my rules.” The monitors all went dark save one. “Seth Rollins wanted to be a King by any means. I gave him that means and the thanks I get is trying to flee? I don’t like deserters of dreams.”

Finn caught the lone monitor still active in the corner of his eye, seeing another Seth, a full head of brown hair, chained to a wall like a medieval prisoner. “That one,” Suit Seth continued, “is paying the price for abandoning me. I will settle for having everything else abandon him, INCLUDING himself.

“Sorry if it’s in poor taste, ‘Balor’.” He sneered. “I know that’s how you got in here. But neither of you have enough power to stop me.”

Finn could feel the Demon trembling in anger and pain. It still reeled from the Hafaza’s Voice, and begrudgingly acknowledged he couldn’t fight this Seth.

“That so?” Finn bluffed. “Let’s see who needs who about now.” 

_ Find the real Seth through that “window”,  _ Finn risked facing the Cerberus-charged version of Seth without the Demon’s backup. Balor didn’t like the idea either. 

_ I can stay and help some,  _ the demon protested.

_ No. Go get Seth. Come help me then.  _

A shadow shifted beneath Finn, something Suit Seth didn’t see. “That’s pretty brave of you,” Suit Seth removed his coat and carefully undid his purple cufflinks. “Your demon is wounded, and you’re not 100% because of it.”

“I won’t need him against you,” Finn crouched. 

Suit Seth continued to smirk until he noticed a shadow melting through the one active monitor. That hesitation enough for Finn to get the jump on the battle and flatten Seth with a Sling Blade. “And I just got myself one less distraction!” Finn shouted back as he rolled quickly to his feet.

Suit Seth snapped to his feet and charged. Finn locked up with him immediately, twisting Suit Seth away from the monitors to buy Balor some time.

Balor landed next to the chained Seth, finding him somewhat conscious. A good start. He pawed at Seth’s face to wake him up some more. “Hey. Hey!” he mimicked Seth’s voice to get his attention. 

Seth groaned and opened his dark brown eyes, completely empty orbs not focused to anything in the room. His arms held fast by the chains, his legs splayed in front of him, barely covered in tattered, ripped tights. This Seth looked like he’d been locked up for years. This prisoner barely reacted to a demon slapping him around, mouth hanging slightly open as a weak cough escaped him.

“Seth?” At least Balor could say the man’s name. Another cough. “Seth!” Balor repeated, reaching for one of the chains holding Seth’s arms in place. The chains and the arms pulled taut, Balor also discovering them as cold iron. His hands still seared from his encounter with Hafaza. 

He staggered back, spitting infernal curses. His hands melted nearly to their blackened bones. He huffed to himself before speaking to Seth again. “Not Alone,” he managed. Seth’s head rolled forward, eyes trying to focus on the red and black shadow in front of him.

“Who…”

“Friend,” Balor had this word memorized for a good reason. Rollins blinked slowly, not seeming to understand the word. “Friend,” he repeated, watching the recognition slowly fill the prisoner’s eyes. 

Now for new words.  “Stand up,” Balor ordered. 

Seth weakly pulled his legs in to push up, but one leg gave quickly. He slumped and shook his head no.

“Stand. Up,” Balor ordered. Seth tried again, managing a crouch for a few seconds before slumping again. Balor growled and leaned in.  “Stand. Up. King. Slayer,” each word punctuated by a backhand. 

Seth started to flail and wheeze, kicking at Balor in defiance. Balor’s wicked smile only brought more histrionics from Seth. “Fight me!” Rollins finally snarled as he managed to stand, adrenaline numbing whatever pain was in his repaired knee.

“Fight me?” Balor repeated. “Fight yourself.” He pointed to the window, where Seth could see “himself” fighting Finn.

“No, no no no no… oh no…” he rasped and tugged at the chains, glancing back to them and watching the fight. He glared at Balor , kicking out at him a couple of times. “A little help here?”

Balor savored the slowly refilling Pride. “Save yourself. Your chains.”

“MY chains?” Rollins protested. “Do you think I’d chain myself up -”

“Kinky,” Balor taunted. Seth flailed harder.

“I don’t know why the HELL I’m down here stuck like this!! I wouldn’t lock myself up-” one of the chains snapped. Seth staggered, one arm still trapped. He calmed a little, steadying himself on his own two feet. 

His calm brought some light into the dungeon itself, Rollins still breathing hard from the sudden exertion. Now he looked to the fight, then looked at Balor. “Wait, wait… how - but I-”

Only now did that light show Rollins his tormentor, barely standing on his own. His black and red skin dripped with sweat and some black substance, perhaps paint. The blue eyes cloudy and partially hidden under the wilting tendrils of a leather crown. A giant maw dripped of clear and black substances itself, the tongue dried out and more gray than red. Sheets of paint hung limply off the arms and midsection, legs coated in burns. Seth fell to a seated position, one hand still held up by the remaining chain. 

Balor weakly grinned at the poor human seeing him in this bad of shape. His maw quivered at the fear and confusion. “Seth,” he panted, pointing at Rollins. He then pointed up to the other in the suit, arm trembling. “Seth.”

Rollins blinked, still reeling from the shambling red and black mound in front of him. The demon could only continue to demonstrate. “Finn,” his bony finger pointed at the Irishman before tracing down to point at himself. “Balor.”

“Wait, what? How? I don’t - this doesn’t make any sense! Who is that under all that paint? Is all that paint peeling? Who the hell - “

Balor fretted at Seth’s babbling. “No time. Free yourself.”

“What the hell ARE you??” Seth wailed. 

He didn’t have time or the Words to explain. Balor slid forward and raised his tattered hand at Rollins. The Architect screamed at what remained of the Demon’s right hand. He pulled back from Balor, the room starting to darken. “Stay back, whatever you are!” His eyes widened in further panic as he started to mantra “this isn’t real, not a real demon” as the Demon King closed in on him. He kept reaching for Rollins, his hand still stinging. This was the only way, now. Not enough time to wake the memory and show this poor Blind human what he truly faced a couple of summers ago. Balor lunged, body still aching from the holy energies that seared him, scaring the trapped human even further. Balor couldn’t grab for the freed wrist, the cuff still secured and a few links of the cold iron chain dangling down. He backed Seth to a wall, mangled hand still threatening. Seth inhaled to scream again, only to have that semi-skeletal paw wrap around his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the hand to cave his head in.

**_“Open Your Eyes.”_ **  Balor ordered as he held his hand in place until his target complied. 

Light flooded the dungeon and into the upper room. The man who called himself Seth Rollins staggered, overwhelmed by a rush of energies that ran up and down his arms and legs, up his back and over his Bushido tattoo. It snaked up his neck and into his brain, crackling between his ears, crescendoing in a blinding flash and explosion of energy throughout his entire being. There was no pain but a flush of emotions, energy and…  _ something.  _ The other chain shattered, allowing him to drop to his hands and knees, body running hot and cold at the same time. The room began to shake violently, and the room where Finn and Suit Seth were fighting started to collapse. Both dove through the monitor into the dungeon area, landing next to Seth, just as exhausted. 

It still needed time to sink in. Everything Seth Rollins thought he knew now shattered like the room around him, leaving them in a white void. He fell slightly forward to his elbows, hands clutching his head as whatever that command did continued to surge through him. He howled through the rest of the pain and power that flushed through his body a second time before collapsing on the bare white floor.

Suit Seth rolled to his feet. “The hell-”

Finn glanced around at all the emptiness before locking eyes with the Demon. “You didn’t…”

Balor lowered his head in apology, pointing to his still-wounded body. “I had to.” 

Rollins put both fists to the floor and pushed himself up. His expression wide with almost childlike wonder to the void created around him. There was no sound, nothing but him and three others standing in nothing. Forcing himself to stand, Rollins’ expression still baffled as he finally turned to the only “familiar” face there- Finn’s.

“What is going on here? I was in the trainer’s room -”

“Not in Kansas - or Dallas- anymore,” Finn smirked faintly. “This really is all in your head.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Suit Seth demanded as he shoved Finn aside. “You wouldn’t lie to yourself, would you? This is all just a stupid dream, you fell asleep on the trainer’s table because Finn bored you out of your mind!” 

Finn shoved Suit Seth back. “Let him decide for himself - yourself - “ the Irishman glared again at Balor, who avoided his human’s gaze to look at Suit Seth.

“Cerberus,” he growled. Suit Seth stood his ground.

“And YOU,” Suit Seth pointed at the Demon with a broadening smirk, “Are nothing but a figment of their imaginations.” He nodded to Seth and Finn. “It should just disappear.”

Rollins again turned to Finn. “I’m not about to break into an argument with myself.” 

Finn shrugged. “But your imagination wouldn’t paint the Demon King like a wounded creature like that, would it?”

Suit Seth gave Finn a baffled look. Rollins looked to his better-dressed self. “You’re the one who doesn’t belong here,” he started with as much confidence as he can muster. “You came in here earlier. I’m NOT alone. Finn’s here, and if he’s all I got right now he’s all I got. And I think I get it now. YOU aren’t ME!”

Suit Seth folded his arms. “Prove it.”

“If you were REALLY me, you’d have beaten Finn already! He doesn’t look like he’s hurt from anything you did!” 

Finn actually felt an interesting twinge in his body. Seth is testing a theory, Finn could tell. The Irishman straightened his back and flashed his trademark grin at Suit Seth, who turned away. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Suit Seth uncomfortably replied.

Rollins grinned back at Finn, licking his lips at this impostor’s discomfort. “If you were REALLY me, you wouldn’t have shown up dressed like that. I haven’t worn a suit since Hall of Fame, and I don’t wear purple!” 

“That means nothing!” The well-dressed Seth protested with more confidence. “Clothing choices are not conscious ones.”

Rollins could see his sharper-dressed counterpart’s outfit didn’t change color. “You’re right,” Rollins smirked even harder. “I also have a little more respect for the Demon King than to have him show up looking like a zombie reject like this.” 

Seth pointed down at Balor, the Demon’s eyes glowing with mischief and gratitude. “I can say it here. This thing scared the crap out of me for an entire week! And while I like the idea of beating him someday, I’d like it to be a lot more of a fair fight.” 

Balor’s sore hands twitched a moment, and his sore body started to spasm. A newer sensation washed over him, a warm bath of energies he recognized from his short time in the insane business his human chose as his life-long career.

Respect. Acceptance. A healing that Demons rarely share amongst themselves, and is sometimes taken from the fear other humans have for his existence. Seth Rollins feared him once. Even in defeat, this “Kingslayer” did not fear him because of the enormous respect he had for Finn. The energies soaked into his body, drying and wiping the black blood away and letting it seep back into his system, restoring the strength that he lost under the golden lights and purest sounds of that Hafaza’s presence. Humans are by no means pure, but knowing that respect and Thrall crosses all borders, Balor could feel himself whole again. In a single fluid motion he stood again, grateful.

Seth made a broad gesture with his arms, the cold iron cuffs disintegrating. “Hah hah hah hah hah hah haah…. because the REAL me has a better imagination than a black and purple suit!”

Suit Seth locked stares with Rollins. “And what can you do about it?”

“Me? Oh, I already have an idea.” Rollins held back another cackle as he placed a hand on the Demon’s shoulder. “I think this is your department.”

Balor did not waste a further moment on gratitude. He lunged at the well-dressed Cerberus in disguise, maw wide open. “MURDERDEATHKILLCERBERUSIMPOSTERDIETHING!” 

A sudden flash of red followed by an odd crashing sound snapped Seth Rollins awake. “The hell was that?”

“The hell was what?” Finn asked from the other side of the room. The crash startled him and the Demon at the same time, breaking the mind link. 

Seth slid off the table toward the door. “I just heard a - AAAAAAA~!!” The Architect slammed back against the wall at the grotesque sight of the Demon King sprawled on the ground,  _ away  _ from Finn and covered in blood. He frantically looked back and forth to them, trying not to scream again or ruin his tights.

Finn pulled himself up using the trainer’s table. “Sounded like a car crash in the garage. Didn’t think we could hear that from here-”

Seth’s mind spun even harder now. That crash could be Roman. He’s stuck in a trainer’s room with a actual Demon. “Finn, PLEASE tell me this is some sort of sick rib and I just woke up from-”

Finn couldn’t lie to Seth about this any longer. “I wish I could, Seth. But what you just went through in your head was real.  _ He’s  _ real,” Finn nodded to the Demon still slumped on the floor. “Your nightmare about selling your soul to Cerberus was real. That version of you in the purple tie was Cerberus trying to control you somehow. I think we got it in time.” he looked down at the bloodied Demon. “Did you catch him before we ‘left’?”

The Demon slowly nodded, sitting up and mopping blood off his arms with his monstrous tongue. “Gone. Free Seth.” 

Seth sank to the floor, holding his head. He didn’t know if he was still in the dream or nightmare or whatever the hell just happened in that white void. His right hand didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe it was the migraine settling in from just the last hour. Had an hour passed? What time was it? Who would believe him if he said anything at all about this? Did someone slip something in his coffee? His mind refused to stop asking questions that he had no answers for, trying to process the black and red creature nearby cleaning himself up like a cat after a fresh kill. 

Finn crouched next to Seth. “I didn’t want things to go this way, but we had to show you what was going on. This was why you lost to Bray Wyatt. He’s trying to do the same thing to Dean and Roman.”

The Demon tried to offer Seth a more sympathetic look as he tried to clean up. “No more Cerberus.”

Seth’s brain couldn’t process all this at once. Another helpless glance to Finn.

“There’s a lot to explain, but it might have to wait until after the show. You need to find out about that crash we heard. Roman might need you right now.”

Rollins thought that right this second, he needed Roman more. He stumbled out of the room, brain still spinning from what had just happened. Finn locked the door behind him so no one else would walk in on them.

\---------------------------------------

7/9/17

When Roman chose the wrestling business, one thing his family always reminded him that Samoans in general didn’t need weapons. Samoans in general were seen AS weapons, and to that he didn’t want to be the exception. 

That lesson was the second reason he hated swinging a steel chair. The first still reverberated in his mind. And sometimes reverberated in his back.

Most wrestlers savor the sound of metal on flesh. The steel chair is a go-to weapon; easy to find, easy to swing, easy to find more and swing harder. For Roman Reigns, a steel chair only brings back the dark memory of Seth slamming one into his back to the proud delight of Triple H. 

The Shield had put Evolution to rest. Triple H wouldn’t let that stand. To this day Roman doesn’t know what was said or done to Seth for him to raise a chair against his brothers, but deep down the big Samoan knew his little brother regretted it. He had to.

And if Seth didn’t regret it immediately, Roman made him regret it if a chair was raised against him or Dean since that night. 

He had to use one on Braun Strowman. Or tried to. The Monster among Men shrugged off most of the blows before just tearing it form Reigns’ hands and throwing the Samoan into the barricades. Roman staggered against the metal, his vest offering almost no protection against the sheer power Strowman brought to bear.

_ I still can’t throw this guy,  _ the thought repeated in Roman’s head. Surprisingly, no other voice responded.

Roman staggered against the LED boards at the top of the ramp. Braun had thrown him uphill, across the stage, and almost got him through the announce table. He escaped the powerbomb only to have his carcass thrown into the side of the ambulance.

_ He sure as hell can throw me,  _ his only coherent thought as he rolled around on the floor. He could hear the crowd laughing, cheering the carnage. He couldn’t hear the referee asking him questions over the din. He could hear the crowd savoring his imminent demise.

He could hear the ambulance door open. He wasn’t going in that easily. Now if his body would agree with his brain.

Strowman hauled him up again and tried to stuff Roman through one of the opened doors. Roman braced, breaking free long enough to get in some more offense and open the other back door to the ambulance. Two Superman punches staggered Braun, but not enough behind them to knock him out completely. Again Reigns looked to his tattoos, which remained dark and unwilling to wake up against this giant. He couldn’t summon the thrall to force Strowman into the ambulance, only to be flattened by the backboard. Braun hadn’t slowed the entire match; Roman couldn’t get started.

_ Anyone but Roman,  _ a voice continued to echo in Braun’s mind.  _ Leave nothing of him but a twisted corpse.  _

The brawl went back to the stage. Again only desperation saved Roman when he shoved Braun through the set.  _ Not a throw,  _ he reminded himself. He was still thankful that Braun didn’t get up right away. He could catch his breath, maybe get something going…..

Then he heard it. Faint at first, but it was there.

“This Is Awesome!” the crowd started chanting. Roman pushed up on his left arm, but again his right arm did nothing. What little thrall that chant brought Roman wasn’t enough as Braun crawled out of the rubble, refusing to stay down. He tried to gather the monster to fling off the stage, only to be flung himself. 

He missed the ambulance door by inches, but little solace as his entire body slammed into the metal barricades nearby. All these impacts started blurring his vision, adding to all the other pain and damage he’d taken just trying to slow this juggernaut who ignored almost everything Roman had thrown at him. He had only one weapon left. 

His own body. He blearily looked up to see Braun just outside the ambulance doors. He charged through the fog to Spear the Monster into the ambulance.

And missed. The doors closed. 

Roman lay on the floor of the ambulance in the dark, exhausted and embarrassed. How in the world do you MISS a 385 pound monster? Looks like he just found out. 

He heard the cheering and laughing outside. The crowd celebrated his “demise” and it happening in the stupidest way possible. He pounded the floor with right arm, only to not see it lighting up again. 

The laughter echoed louder in his head. The cheers against him reverberated with the laughter. He’d made a mistake he knows he’ll never hear the end of, not even from his brothers. 

This wasn’t over. The match was, but Roman Reigns wasn’t done.

He pushed to his feet, shouting down the ambulance driver. “DON’T LEAVE!” He roared at the EMT before pushing the back doors open again. Braun was still celebrating, oblivious. 

Roman wasn’t going to miss this time. Thrall or no thrall, this Samoan had had enough of being thrown around like a child.  _ Grown-ass men get up from this. And fix it.  _

Reigns exploded out of the rear of the ambulance and Speared Strowman into the concrete. The big Samoan shot to his feet, fury and heritage pushing him to near berserk levels of rage. Again the arm refused to activate, only fueling his anger further. He slammed Braun against the back of the vehicle and battered him with the back door before shoving the oversized carcass inside and slamming the doors shut, holding them in place a moment. His brain refused to clear. This wasn’t enough.

He marched to the cab and threw the driver out as hard as Strowman had been throwing him earlier.  _ This is the ONLY Ambulance ride happening tonight!  _  He crammed himself into the driver’s seat and raced through backstage. 

Any other night, this would have been Dean Ambrose driving the ambulance, blaring the sirens and shouting people out of his way.

Any other night, Seth Rollins would have fled in the ambulance without Strowman in the back, white-knuckling the steering wheel and stomping the gas pedal with his entire body weight.

Tonight was Roman’s turn to road rage. He slid to a stop between all the buses and production trucks, the main exit door already pulled shut. He stared down that door for a few seconds, unsure if he could break through it with the vehicle. And even if he did, he’d have half of Dallas’ police force after him. He’d had enough fights for one night.

His wild eyes caught the rear view mirror, and even that barely calmed him.  _ Dumbass. Can’t throw him, can’t win the match, can’t even drive straight. Now what?  _ He knew it wouldn’t be much longer before Braun would regain consciousness, and any partition between him and where the Monster lay wouldn’t hold him im place for long. 

He threw the ambulance in reverse and held on. Eyes closed and foot to the floor. It didn’t matter if his arm wanted to light up or not anymore.  _ If this is it, this is it. _

_ And if this didn’t work….. _

The ambulance roared backward, slamming into a trailer to the shock and horror of an entire arena. The cacophony of metal slamming against metal echoed through the garage, through the arena, through the locker rooms. Through Roman Reigns’ stubborn mind. He lay hunched over the steering wheel, the airbags choosing not to deploy. 

Adrenaline was starting to wear off. Thrall didn’t replace it. Roman somehow got the driver’s side door open and he nearly fell out into a concrete pillar. He staggered to the front of the vehicle to gather himself, hearing voices of others closing in to see what had happened. People running up to the ambulance. Stupid people taking video with their phones. Not a one to approach the winded Samoan, not even a flabbergasted Kurt Angle.

With a single glance back, Roman Reigns still not sure if he’d done enough against that monster. Too hurt to keep fighting, too drained to speak, he staggered away, alone.

\----------------------------------

7/9/17

_ Don’t let them take you, Black Sheep. Wake up and hurry home.  _

The voice stirred in the jumbled mess of Braun Strowman’s mind. Other voices and machinery rang in his ears, a frenetic alarm clock of panicked people and power tools. Light washed into the space where he lay, bloodied and sore, more from a sudden impact than anything else he remembered from the match. 

He won the match, right? So why is he stuck in here?

_ Find your way home, Black sheep. Don’t let them take you away. Follow, follow, follow me on this golden lighted path…. _

Strowman almost recognized the voice but had little time to ponder it further as referees, agents and EMTs tried to coax and carry him out of what remained of the ambulance. He pawed back their help, shoved the gurney aside. He couldn’t keep his footing but would not lay still for these others. He had to find that voice first. 

_ Closer and closer you crawl. Stand Upright. Come to me.  _

He cleared the rest of the rabble and disappeared into the bowels of the garage. Wherever that voice was, that would help him.

\-----------------------------------------------

7/9/17 

Dean caught a lot of cross-chatter as he ran through backstage. He DID hear the ambulance crash, and Roman was in that ambulance. He just  _ knew _ that. Hearing his brother stuck in another mangled ambulance didn’t make a good ending for his night. He had to know if Roman was okay.

Some of the agents and wrestlers were turned away from the garage, some of them shouting something about “the show must go on”. Dean didn’t care. This was WAY more important. His brother could be hurt and that banjo baby Braun might still be pounding on him. That had to stop before Braun ended up needed a different ambulance to ride! 

He rounded a corner to find a crowd around the smashed vehicle, most of them shouting about Braun. He snagged one of the agents by his jacket and slapped the phone out of his hands. 

“Where’s Roman?!” Dean demanded, free hand already way too close to the agent’s nose. “And who the fuck cares about Strowman?”

“Roman left…”

“He … left,” Dean repeated flatly. “No one thought to see if he’s okay??”

“He was driving the ambulance-”

“And he just … left.” This did not compute even in Ambrose logic. Roman would have stayed with the ambulance and filed the police report. Roman wouldn’t let the EMTs touch him. Roman wouldn’t just walk away from this kind of chaos.

“Did you see where he went?” Dean hadn’t let go of the agent. “Or were you too busy recording everything else?” He groused before punching the agent’s lights out.

Ambrose glanced around before taking off through the garage.“He couldn’t have gone far.. 

 

_ "ROMAN~!!!” _

\-------------------


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after GBoF and the fallout of a LOT of supernatural activity

7/10/2017

Elias Sampson had soaked in much of the previous evening’s supernatural noise. Angels, demons, elves and whatever Dean Ambrose is. Didn’t any of them know how to hide their thrall? Dean apparently the only one good enough to escape this Muse’s tender eyes and ears. Thankfully, his power allowed him to explore without anyone else’s concern, a few stray notes to distract them from his quiet observations.

He graced the stage to open the show and decided to see if the Demon King liked his music. He didn’t care if the crowd liked it, he’d simply play them down with minor chords out of spite.

“♪ Finn Balor’s not a savior, he’s just a man, he tried to upstage me but he didn’t understand. Tonight I’ll knock him off his pedestal, Leave him lying too, not a single man was ever the same after I was through. Houston, we have a problem! And, here it is….. ♪

Finn humored Elias with a proper musical cue. He needed something a little more lighthearted; the last 24 hours he’d been shouted down by an angel, stuck in someone else’s head, lost control of his Demon and found out two others badly injured after a deliberate ambulance crashing. The last thing Finn Balor needed on his plate was this Other taunting him through music. Thankfully, Elias stores all his thrall in the guitar and rarely brings it with him to the ring.

Finn used the match to see how effective Seth’s healing actually worked. He’d assumed that what happened in Seth’s mind against the Cerberus impostor “real” enough that any “changes” that Seth made in his staredown would stick. He steered clear of the Muse’s taunts in the meantime, testing out the shoulder (not 100%) his back (definitely better) and his body overall. It didn’t feel like he’d had a battle the previous evening, and it seemed even the Demon was in good spirits and letting his human do the work. Victory thus assured, Finn celebrated back up the ramp.

He was caught off-guard when Matt and Jeff Hardy wandered out to see him.

“King Demon, you look WONDERFUL! Despite the previous evening’s excursions!” Zenith appraised his friend through the noise.

Jeff offered his hand. “I know a lot went down last night, we can still help you if you need it.”

Finn shook his hand. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He playfully did the Hardy salute as a thrall offering to Enigma. He turned to Matt. “And Zenith, behave or there’ll be -” he gestured broadly - “DELETIONS!”

Zenith laughed but acknowledged, letting Matt have his body back for their match.

\------------------------

7/10/17

Dean dozed away in one of the empty locker rooms, feet propped up on someone else’s bag. He had the monitor on for background noise to counter all the noise in his head from the previous night. It had taken him more than an hour to find Roman and his poor Samoan was in even worse shape than that night in LA. Dean himself couldn’t even get Roman’s arm to glow. The Big Dog whimpered about all the voices HE was starting to hear, and Ambrose assumed that all those voices echo in a Samoan’s head. Not good.

Against his own judgment he told Roman to at least get checked out to make sure he didn’t hurt himself from doing reverse burnouts in an ambulance. Dean actually wanted to be proud of Roman for attempting some vehicular mayhem, but Roman wasn’t proud of it. At all. That’s not how Roman’s wired. Maybe they’ll go get beer after the show tonight.

Miz was ruining the show again tonight by just talking. Dean groaned. “Get to the fighting already!” he shouted at the monitor.

“And the Mizzie for the greatest man in WWE….” Miz continued his mock-Oscar session with the dramatic opening of a dark red envelope. “...Dean Ambrose?”

Dean perked up, hearing his name called. Miz’s confused expression disappeared almost immediately after reading the name. “Just kidding!! The Greatest Man is The Miz!” He waved the open envelope, text big enough for the front row to see. “I said I would beat Dean Ambrose, and _goodness gracious Great Balls of Fire_ I did it!

“A lot of people around here like to talk!” Miz rattled off a list from just the previous evening. “The Hardyz said they’d be tag Champs again! Tozawa said he would dethrone Neville! And Seth Rollins said he’d expose Bray Wyatt for the fraud that he is! Well, the only frauds I saw were the Hardy Boyz, Tozawa and Seth _Frickin’_ Rollins!

“See, when they speak, it’s just noise! But when I speak, I speak the truth! I said that Dean Ambrose would cave under the pressure of going up against WWE’s biggest box office draw-”

Dean hopped off the bench. “Three times. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice.” He marched off to spike Miz’s head into the mat again.

\----------------------------

7/10/2017

Sure enough, Miz was _Still_ talking when he hit the ring, making him Dean’s initial target. Dean didn’t want the offered microphone and he never did care about the odds. Only thing he cared about this point was making sure the next time Miz said “Dean Ambrose” there’d be a little bit of fear in his voice! He only got in a few shots before the Mook-tourage took over. He kept flailing, getting angrier that he wasn’t making any headway with them. And Miz was _STILL_ talking!

Dean didn’t recall much after that until he heard music playing and the Miztourage heading for the hills. That felt a lot more correct. Curtis Axel had been knocked to the floor and dragged away by the Miz, Maryse escaping with the trophies, Bo already on the ramp. He doesn’t remember punching Miz or Bo but THIS is how a three-on-one goes when he’s the “one”.

Why was Seth Rollins’ music playing? He finally turned to see the Architect perched on a corner turnbuckle, doing a lot more talking than swinging. Dean resisted every urge to haul Mr. Skinny Jeans off the top rope and vent on him too.

Mustafa Ali’s words started floating around in his head. _Why not Seth? What if he did ask?_ Ali’s words, not his or any of his other “regular voices” repeated.

 _He didn’t ask,_ he thought to himself, _but he’s gonna get an answer anyway._

\----------------------------------

7/10/2017

Seth stomped backstage, shaking out his right hand. Apparently he forgot to heal it completely while he was in that dreamscape. Maybe because he was new there. Maybe punching a mirror WAS a bad idea.

Why was he even _thinking_ about that? He focused back on Miz’s comments about losing to Wyatt at the Pay-Per-View. He would get to fix that little problem later, so Mr. “Z lister” didn’t have to bring that up.

“What was That??” Dean Ambrose practically appeared next to him, looking none too pleased despite their non-interaction. Now Dean’s evening was ruined, he got rescued by Seth Rollins of all people?

“What d’ya mean, man?” Seth snapped back indignantly. “I’m not about to let Miz run his mouth like that about me!”

“Oh, riight,” Dean’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “nowadays you got this great reputation to protect.”

Seth knew where this was going. “Come on, I’m working on it!”

“I know you. I don’t trust you, and YOU screwed that up.” Seth had heard this a hundred times already. He heard it for two years straight when Dean had gone Full Lunatic on him, chasing Seth around the globe a couple of times trying to get that revenge. He’d never seen Dean focused on _anything_ that long and that definitive.

Dean had to say it to Seth’s face before this “Kingslayer” got any more ideas. Dean didn’t care how much the company trusted him, especially with a goon like Triple H still in charge.

“You see, _this_ isn’t gonna happen,” Dean put his foot down. The rumor had to stop long before it got started. “ain’t gonna be no ‘Shield reunion’.”

Seth scoffed at the supposition. He hadn’t even listened to what Miz had said about Ambrose but really didn’t care. Well, maybe a little.

“Just stay out of my business,” Dean recommended, “You fight your own battles and I’ll fight mine.”

“Fine, man. Jeez.” Seth didn’t want to argue and let Dean storm off. Seth watched him go, Finn Balor’s voice echoing to him from the middle of everything that happened the previous evening. Did that ‘nightmare’ under the spotlight happen to all three of them? Was Dean still cursed? What about Roman?

He needed answers. And a plan. Getting Bray Wyatt out of his face will help him focus.

\---------------------------------------

7/10/2017

The distinctive _click_ of the door lock isn’t something Roman Reigns usually heard or did when he arrived at an arena. He only had half the lights on, his gear bag partially unzipped. Usually he’d be fully dressed out by now, warming up or making a quick call home. He’d turned his phone off after it flooded with texts and calls during and after the Pay-Per-View. He didn’t even look at his phone until about 3am, after Dean Ambrose - Mr. “Dangerous Conditions” and self-proclaimed “King of Bad Ideas” - told him to get checked out and cleared. The big Samoan thought about bringing Dean along to make sure _he_ was all right, too.

Stifling a smirk he finished opening his bag to lay out his gear. His chest still tender from last night, he winced as he hefted the vest out and dug around for his gauntlet. He wanted to put that on first tonight for some reason; comfort, since it reminded him that he was providing and protecting his family? Still a little on guard because of Braun?

His thoughts interrupted by a rattle at the door, followed by knocking. Roman rolled his eyes. “Seth, I’m _fine,_ my phone battery’s dead.”

“It’s not Seth,” the voice apologized from the other side. “It’s Mustafa Ali. I’ve been trying to catch up with you. Can I come in?”

That raised a Samoan’s eyebrow. He fished something else out of his gear bag before letting Ali inside. “I promise, this won’t take long at all.”

“Don’t apologize,” Reigns offered Ali a chair. “Dean told me you were looking for me. And I think we kinda need to talk about the last couple of months.” Roman opened his right hand, showing Ali a golden feather. “This yours? Dean had this stuck to his shirt last night when he found me.”

Ali shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “You’ve seen my wings enough times,” he said as he carefully opened one. “And thankfully all Dean did to me was tear some out when I was trying to figure out what Bray Wyatt is up to. I know the Undertaker was involved earlier but I’ve only caught traces of his power…”

“Undertaker is out of the picture,” Roman confirmed. “Bray Wyatt’s been the problem. Braun Strowman, too.”

“I’ve seen the thrall you have in your right arm when things have broken down backstage. You didn’t use it at all against Braun.”

“I’m not holding it back,” The Samoan protested. “I just won’t…. _work_ when I’m fighting Strowman. Finn talked to me last night about it -”

“He told me you almost put him through the wall.”

“I just….reacted when he did something. He was messing with my ink.” He shook out his right arm. “When I went out to face Strowman, it just… shut down. He knocked me for a couple of loops, so I was having trouble focusing.” He looked away from the Angel. “Then my dumbass ended up in the ambulance.”

“I’d think all that frustration and anger would have done _something,”_ Ali reached out toward the arm, which didn’t spark. “Has it done anything since last night?”

Roman shook his head no, sighing. “It’s really frustrating and I NEED this to start working again with Summerslam coming up. Put it out there that I’m making myself #1 contender and if I can’t back that up…” He rubbed his face with both hands. Ali noted the big Samoan hadn’t slept well, and not just from the late night after the Pay-Per-View or the drive to the venue today. “I’m this close to the top of the mountain, too.”

“I might be able to help with that. You made a pact with Cerberus.”

Roman’s distant thoughts disappeared as his angry gaze lanced into the Chicago angel. Ali shivered. “I only know because of what I ‘saw’ in Seth and Dean’s minds,” he backpedaled.

“Dunno if I need anyone else in mine. Glad the Undertaker isn’t there anymore. And what’re you gonna do in there?”

“You’re a man of faith,” Ali replied. “My faith my lie elsewhere but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t at least try to help.”

Roman stared at Ali for a few moments, first to his wings, then to his eyes. “You think this might help?”

“If you’ll let me. Dean was a little… ‘reluctant’.”

The Big Dog gave Ali a faint smile. “Trust me, he probably saved you from seeing stuff that NOBODY should see.” Roman offered his left hand. “This way nothing gets in the way. With my luck, you’ll find whatever it is and my arm ‘goes off’....”

Ali nodded and gathered Roman’s outstretched hand with both of his own hands. He closed his eyes and made the “leap” to Roman’s mind, slamming into a wall at first. _Samoan,_ he reminded himself. He phased through the rock-hard barrier into darkness, but one that rang with laughter and passion. He sought that spotlight memory that he’d seen in Dean and Seth’s minds, and it presented itself after sifting through some areas he wasn’t permitted to enter.

A spotlight pierced the darkness, over a younger, well-dressed Roman, hair slicked back from his light blue eyes.

“What do you they call you here?” A deep voice echoed around him.

“Roman Reigns,” the young man answered.

“What do you seek, ‘Roman Reigns’?” A second voice, almost as deep but just as loud queried.

“I want to succeed in this business, but not because of my heritage.”

“What will you do for this?” A third, gravelly voice spoke. “What will you sacrifice for this goal?”

“What would you want of me?” this Roman guardedly asked.

“A piece of your heart, a piece of your soul. Your destiny will come.”

“My heritage. That way I can’t cheat.,” Roman answered.

“Your heritage for your success,” the first voice repeated. “So shall it be.”

Ali found Roman’s offering strange, but saw the big Samoan wobble slightly as the spotlight converted into the Cerberus symbol. From there, the memories of his work with Seth and Dean played, starting from Roman being brought on board for the Shield, learning from his brothers, growing that close bond.

When Seth broke the Shield, Ali saw a tear in the fabric of the Samoan’s mind. That tear drew in voices and traces of dark energies. Now Ali could hear it - the boos, the insults, the vitriol of an audience that rejected him as some great hero, no matter how hard he worked and how much he improved. The memories slid to a screeching halt when he ran afoul of the Undertaker earlier in the year, leading to Wrestlemania. A curious memory appeared in the events leading to the Show of Shows, where Undertaker had cornered Reigns in the bowels of an arena; an area not unlike where the Shield would shoot their videos.

“You CHOSE to work for him?” Undertaker none too pleased that his sire was recruiting.

“But I’m still here, and I got here despite what I’ve given up. He doesn’t have my heart or soul. He has something I don’t even use.”

Undertaker turned to ask another question but the memory wiped to the match itself, where blue and purple Thrall flashed around the ring like fireworks, reeling the Deadman and battering the Big Dog. Roman’s thrall started to drain the Undertaker, leaving him hampered in his movement and dazed from the repeated blows. Roman staggered Taker with repeated punches and spears, his thrall enhanced from rage and what he had absorbed from the Deadman because of the oath. One final, supercharged Spear ended the bout, so much so that even Roman seemed to be in disbelief of his victory. Realizing what he might have done to a legend in the business, some of that purplish thrall traced back to the Deadman, help him sit up one last time. Roman walked away, not even watching Undertaker’s last ritual. He got to the back where only then he saw the neatly folded coat, gloves and hat still in the ring, and Undertaker “descending” from the stage. Ali couldn’t feel any pride from the accomplishment. In fact, there were shadows of … _doubt_ floating around in his mind?

He could hear laughter now. Jeering, mocking laughter. Singsong-y chants and the occasional slur. And the booing, all the negative responses. Roman appeared under another spotlight, in the middle of a ring in the middle of an arena of doubts.

Ali found himself between the bleachers, flabbergasted. How could Roman have all this doubt in his mind despite all his accomplishments? How could he still question his abilities after all he had done in this business in such a short amount of time? Was it from sky-high expectations from the family? Constant critique from the office? He scanned the crowd, seeing that each bit of doubt nothing more than a faceless, shouty being waving its arms or holding up a negative sign like “When it Reigns it Bores” or mocking his weight, his push, his status. _What in the world does he have to worry about?_ Ali pondered as he chose to walk to the ring, seeing Reigns drop to a knee with his head lowered, almost in defeat.

Mustafa entered the ring to a further chorus of boos and taunts. He faced one set of bleachers and deliberately spread his wings, arcing them upward flapping them once, stirring a wind in the arena. All of the voices silenced, save some whispers and eerie laughter. He then turned to Roman and carefully placed his hand on Roman’s tattooed shoulder. “Roman, you’re in the wrong ring. Those aren’t the voices to listen to.”

Roman’s open right hand rested on the gray canvas. “This is the ring. This is what’s paying the bills. If I can’t back up my words, then this’ll go away too.”

“Then why do their words matter more than yours?” Ali could see past Roman’s hair that the tattooed arm looked dulled and gray, completely devoid of thrall. He knew that couldn’t be right. “Roman, look at me.”

The Samoan raised his head, despair and confusion marring his normally stern face. “I - I thought you were- “

“ **Listen to me, Leati,”** Ali ordered. “You are a man of faith. And you have promises to keep no matter what anyone out there has to say of you. Are you not a warrior? A father? A Prince to a Royal family in this business we’ve chosen?”

The awe in Roman’s eyes faded to a vulnerable, childlike stare. A deer locked in the proverbial headlights. He made the slightest nod of his head but it lowered again, and not in reverence or deference to the Angel standing before him.

Ali offered a hand to help the Samoan up, but Roman swatted it away. “I don’t want sympathy.”

“Then be a man of your word,” Ali offered his hand again. “Your family, your Brothers, your friends- we’re all here for you. The ones in the stands, remember, they react. Regardless of what they say, they’re reacting. THAT is Thrall. So long as there are voices heard, you have nothing to fear in this business, right?”

Roman’s face contorted a moment in confusion. Had he been overthinking this all along? “They compare it to John Cena -”

“With good reason. Do you ever see him angry anymore when they boo him or sing along with his music?”

Roman shrugged. “I figured he did that because he doesn’t have to work another day in his life.”

“So is John Cena better at this than you are?” Ali tried not to taunt, but it was still enough for Roman to finally stand. Even the remaining laughter and whispers silenced.

“I think you’re done here,” Roman informed Ali. The Chicago Angel realized that the arena around them wasn’t empty anymore. The stands now filled with other wrestlers, much of the Anoa’i and Fatu family as could be seated, starting to roar  as Dean and Seth marched to the ring. “They’ve got my back. You might want to cover yours.”

“But I helped you - “

Dean and Seth had blocked off two sides of the ring. Roman stood near a corner, smirking. The crowd only getting louder as Ali glanced around him, then back to the Samoan, whose arm started to flicker in anticipation. He could feel Seth and Dean enter the ring with purpose. “But-” he protested again.

“This is how some wrestlers thank each other,” Roman laughed as Rollins and Ambrose hauled Ali off the mat. “A wrestling tradition!”

“I thought you said you - “ Mustafa’s protest drowned out by Roman’s primordial howl, echoed from all the support in the stands. He braced and awaited the finality of a Triple Powerbomb landing.

With a blink and a flash the crowd’s roar vanished, replaced by Roman Reigns’ laughter as Ali somehow ended up on the floor between two chairs. He didn’t recall the impact, or the explosion of cheers from the crowd watching. Instead, The Big Dog stood over him with a huge grin, offering a hand to help Ali up. “What kinda man of faith would I be if I powerbombed an angel?”

“One that I can’t report since I only write down good deeds…?” Mustafa answered as he got his feet back under him and his wings back in order. “I hope that helped.”

“I don’t need to be like Seth and running around in my own head like that. So yeah, you helped.” He offered his gauntleted hand in gratitude. “Thanks man. Now I’ve got a #1 contendership to discuss.”

Ali accepted the handshake. “Good luck. I don’t think you’ll need it, but good luck regardless.”

\-------------------------------------------------

7/10/2017

The King of the Cruiserweights had more on his mind than his title or defending it. He cared little for his upcoming tag match with Noam Dar against Cedric Alexander and Akira Tozawa. Between the match, Titus O’neill’s barking and Alicia Fox’s screeching, he’d sooner face the Monster among men if it meant not having all that extra noise in his ears.

He spotted some of the other cruisers watching events unfold in the ring, as Roman Reigns and Brock Lesnar discussed what would likely be the main event of Summerslam.

“You don’t deserve shit, pal,” Lesnar had the audacity to say on live television. Neville noted that Roman didn’t flinch, nor did that decorated arm spark in response. _About time he got that under control,_ he grumbled as he slipped past his peers to put an ear to Wyatt’s locker room.

Braun Strowman wasn’t in the building tonight, likely fined for not seeking medical attention after the ambulance wreck. If Wyatt still had any controls on that monster, that was most likely on purpose. The Monster could rest and be ready to return the following week. From his own experience, however, he knew that Wyatt’s mind never lay still.

Neville’s already too sensitive ears didn’t need pressing to the locker room door as Wyatt talked to… someone. Or some others. He frowned at the glee in Wyatt’s voice, taking too much pleasure in how the Shield boys could never reunite, and that Finn Balor was no obstacle. The other voices demanded victory and proof, citing something that happened at the Pay-per-view last night. Wyatt assured more proof to come and something about a sign. That could mean anything, given all that Neville had seen, heard, and was later told.

He did catch Wyatt’s comments about recruiting again, but he guessed Wyatt spoke of Rowan and Harper. He’d find a time to ask Mustafa Ali about it.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

7/10/2017

 

Seth Rollins had enough trouble standing still, much less keeping his mind still. He still had a lot of the previous evening on his mind, Dean’s indignance, Miz’s big mouth and now another round against Wyatt coming up.

“Seth,” Charly Caruso began, “Earlier this evening you made your presence felt during the Mizzies, seemingly to come to the aid of Dean Ambrose. But, pardon my pun, shouldn’t you have your eyes set on your Great Balls of Fire rematch against Bray Wyatt tonight?”

Seth chuckled inwardly about the pun, not only for Wyatt’s actions, but for the bizarre and still unreal misadventure he went through the previous evening. He still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around it, never mind his mind and eyes. He didn’t know how to explain how his eyes actually felt after all that; almost like he’d had another round of Lasik. Things looked “clearer”, for lack of a better term. He smirked down at Charly before answering.

“Very clever, Charles, I see what you did there! I would be laughing a lot harder right now except I feel like my eyes are on fire, so thank you very much for reminding me of that. But I want to clear a few things up.

“I did NOT go out there to aid Dean Ambrose, I went out there during the Mizzies for one reason and one reason only, and that’s to shut up the Miz! Which, I think I did a pretty darn good job at. And secondly… Bray Wyatt.

“He’s gotta know better than that one shot to my eye and a cheap win isn’t gonna change anything. He’s still a fraud, he’s still a coward, and tonight I’m gonna go out there and expose the fact that he’s just another guy who can’t hang with Seth Freakin Rollins!”

As he walked away, the lights in the arena flashed chaotically, erupting into darkness.

Wyatt’s darkness. Seth blinked a few times at the lighting change, used to seeing this when it came to Bray Wyatt’s “interruptions” and “Arrivals”. But his eyes blinked again to see it somehow different than before. Only now was it sinking in that arena lights can’t shut down that quickly, no matter how well-coordinated and prepared. He made sure he found a monitor despite the darkness to see what this creep wants.

A deep howling wind framed the silhouette of the man Seth called “fraud”. Wyatt stood in profile to a single light before he began to speak.

“The finest pieces of Seth Rollins are all a part of me, now. All that’s left behind is a sign of regret. Because you can’t change who you are, Seth. You can’t turn back the clocks, you can’t erase your finest acts of Betrayal for they have dug you an abyss Deeper than you can imagine.

“How dare you take your eyes off me! How dare you defy ME! You still don’t understand, Seth, that I am _everywhere,_ Seth. I am Everything and your fate is for ME to toy with! So go on, ‘Kingslaayer’, show me your teeth! Because it doesn’t matter. I promise that you will never deny me again. For your sins you will not be forgiven! For your Sins, You will burn! Because, Seth Rollins... “ the maniacal grin broadened as he raised the smoking lantern.

 _“I’m here,”_ he whispered before blowing the lantern out.

Seth made a dash for Gorilla, but had somehow missed Bray from his undisclosed location to the main stage. A glance at the monitors in that area gave him pause. He swore to himself that he could see it on the monitors; energy wisps from each light in the crowd, settling into the lantern as Wyatt held it up for all around to see. The “fireflies” fed him energies, deliberately or not. Or was it just the smoke from the lantern turned up? He shook his head out and looked toward the curtain, psyching himself up for the match.

Just before Seth’s music hit, he dared a glance up at the monitor again. Wyatt lounged in a corner, staring impatiently at nothing. _Does he even care about this match?_ Seth pondered as the march cued him for his nightly march to the ring.

He waved his arms to the crowd, demanding they cheer louder for their conquering hero. He thumped his chest and shouted back to their cheers, and in these motions he actually _felt_ it. Seth turned to the other side of the ramp, raising his right hand and pointing it, palm out, at the audience in another bit of curiosity. Again, he _felt_ something. Maybe he never noticed it on this level before. Maybe last night still screwed with his head.

The hand gesture not lost on Wyatt; his curiosity sufficiently piqued, he kept his eye on Rollins as he posed for the fans. Bray wandered around the opposite corner, intrigued that perhaps his opponent had a better focus for the match at hand.

Once Seth formally entered the ring, he removed his shirt and locked eyes with Wyatt, noting the glint of mischief reflecting back. The Architect was in no mood for mind games and demonstrated so through the first few minutes of the match. He kept the pace quick, making Wyatt react more than to just act.

Seth put Wyatt’s back to a corner and pressed him there, backed off by the referee. He broke free from the official and lunged, catching Wyatt’s hand with surprising ease. _He was going for my eyes again,_ he realized before raining punches down on the Swamp prophet. Seth continued his rally, ripping most of Wyatt’s odd glove off his hand and prying at the fingers, stomping on them and reminding Bray that he wouldn’t have his eye poked again.

He’d kept Wyatt reeling as Seth smashed the hand into the metal stairs and throwing him back in the ring.  Not to be outdone, Wyatt picked Rollins out of the air and bounced him off the mat. The Swamp Prophet leaned his full weight into Seth, locking his arms and head.

“Who showed you, Seth Rollins?” Wyatt whispered to the Kingslayer. “You almost had me figured out, didn’t you, boy?” He squeezed tighter. “This life would be safer for you with your Eyes Closed and your collar still on, Hound.”

Rollins refused to react. He could hear the crowd had chosen not to watch the match and amused themselves with the Wave. “Your thrall is mine now, Seth Rollins. The Fireflies no longer care about you.”

Seth struggled, much to Wyatt’s amusement. “What more can you See, Seth Rollins? Do you see a darkness unfolding around you?” Seth struggled harder. “Not so fast, not so hard, your journey in my world is only beginning.”

Seth forced Bray to stand, elbowing out of the hold. He refused to answer any of Wyatt’s taunts, slinging him one way then deftly attempting to swing him another by his dreadlocks. Incensed, Wyatt brought his own strength to bear to slow the Architect down. He couldn’t keep Seth still for a pinfall, and his hand stung from the blows on the metal stairs.

He threw Seth to another corner, mumbling something about collars. Only now did Seth speak up. “I’m nobody’s pet or slave,” he growled through a breath. Wyatt forearmed him in the face. That only woke Seth up, a chant for Rollins bolstering him for a few moments as he punched his way out of the corner, only to be spiked to the mat and the heavyset Swamp Prophet wrapped around him and held him to the mat.

“You think my hands are my only weapons?” Bray hissed in the Architect’s ear. “You’ll see how long is my reach, ‘Kingslayer’, and you’ll be blind to any salvation!”

Again Seth powered to his feet, only to meet another flurry of punches and a headbutt. Staggered, Seth barely resisted as he was propped on the top turnbuckle to be battered some more. The Eater of Worlds’ punches were slowing from the continued effort, enough that even in Seth’s semi-stupor he noticed. He blocked an incoming swing and started retaliating, forcing Bray to grab the ropes with both hands to steady. Rollins then chopped at the injured hand, enough to send Wyatt back to the mat in pain.

The crowd started to roar, the cheers and applause filling the Kingslayer with new energy. Or was it just adrenaline? He forgot the question as he staggered Wyatt with kicks, punches and a Sling Blade. He stomped on the damaged hand in further contempt. “Reach for that!” he taunted.

“Seth Rollins is tapping into some unknown energy source right now! I don’t know where it’s coming from!” Corey Graves called as Seth’s feet steadied and his vision cleared. Wyatt rolled to the floor while Seth soaked in the crowd, feeling that surge of energy up and down his entire body. He looked to Wyatt on the floor and dove out after him, his body almost clearing Wyatt completely. Despite the speed of the short flight Rollins had enough to grab a handful of Bray’s Dreadlocks and shove him into the barricade while _still_ landing on his feet! The crowd rallied him on.

Not wasting time to celebrate, he again rolled Wyatt into the ring and took to the air once more, flooring the Unholy man with a clothesline. That wouldn’t keep Wyatt down. More flurries of offense, still the Swamp Prophet refused to stay down. Seth paused to glance over at Wyatt, swearing in his adrenaline high he could see something purplish around Bray’s body. _Just the lights and the adrenaline,_ he reminded himself as he rose to his feet once more.

“This Is Awesome!” The crowd began to chant. Rollins’ breath came back to him faster than usual, each chant and round of clapping propelling him forward, dragging him to his feet and urging him up the ropes. Wyatt nearly caught him for a top rope DDT; Seth got his footing back and somehow hefted Wyatt into a Falcon Arrow. STILL Bray would not stay down.

Now the crowd only chanted for Rollins. He caught the staggering Wyatt from behind, only to be caught in the eye with the point of Wyatt’s elbow. Bray used that yelp of pain as incentive to take out Rollins with Sister Abagail, but rolled through and almost pinned Wyatt again. Desperate to get this match finished, Seth caught Wyatt’s arm for the Ripcord Knee, only for the Swamp prophet to sling in headfirst and put the crown of his head almost into Seth’s eye socket.

The blow shot stars into Seth’s vision, one eye closed and the other blurred. He could barely hear Wyatt over the crowd as he closed in.

“Close your eyes for now,” Wyatt almost cooed to Seth as he gathered the Architect. “And when they open again, you’ll _know_ my reach!” Bray slammed Seth to the mat with Sister Abagail and pinned his blinded foe.

“Damn it,” Seth cursed under his breath. “Damn you, Wyatt…” he added as he kept one hand over the injured eye. His furor quelled with the sound of a singsong-y laugh as Bray Wyatt took in his victory.

“You’ll not deny me again,” he tittered. “now let your nightmares become real. You’ll beg for your Collar and darkness.” He chuckled some more as he leaned away from the prone Kingslayer.

“FOLLOW! THE BUZZARDS!” He declared, the arena going dark as he teleported away. Seth recognized the darkness and the lights from the teleport, but could see little else. The crowd seemed curious as well, wondering how Wyatt managed to run away in the dark.

Their voices rose anew as three figures emerged from the crowd, stoically working their way around the ring. _Now what?_ Seth shook his head out to try and get one good eye on what the crowd was murmuring about.

Miz had returned with Bo and Axel in tow. Almost mechanically, they walked around the outside of the ring, surrounding Rollins on three sides. Once he could see out of his good eye, he recognized the tactic. He may not have invented it, but he and his brothers perfected it.

As one, the trio climbed up on the apron. Rollins took quick stock of his situation and found it even stranger that Miz’s mouth was _closed._ Bo and Axel weren’t smiling or jeering. Just three guys with stares burning holes into Seth from three different directions. As the three entered, Rollins sprung forward to get in the first shot on Bo Dallas before all three of him pummeled him into the mat. The tactic too familiar, the showering of punches just too fast.

The crowd again began to roar and scream, and Seth heard a very distinct sound. The sound of a metal chair on flesh. Several chairshots to flesh. Seth crawled to a corner, relieved that the punching had stopped and that chair wasn’t meant for him. His good eye cleared, spotting a frenzied Dean Ambrose waving a bent chair and screaming obscenities at the fleeing trio. Ambrose focused on Miz and company while Seth could only watch, perplexed. Only once Miz, Bo and Axel stumbled backstage did Dean glance back once at Seth, eyes still crazed. Strangely the expression calmed as Dean rolled out of the ring and left without a word.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This segment deserves its own chapter.
> 
> Die hard Shield fans know this segment by heart.

7/17/2017

Amidst all the visible buzz of Kurt Angle’s announcement came the roar of music and the crowd. Dean Ambrose marched out to open the event, having slipped a little cash to a tech in Gorilla to play him in. He didn’t arrive alone; he had a steel chair in hand, “Slightly used” from last week to try and beat some sense into Miz and the Miztourage. He actually hoped they’d come out so he could do it again. He could alternate shots among the three of them before adding another Dirty Deeds to Miz’s resume.

He savored his work on the Titantron, to the approval of all assembled. With a small nod he raised the microphone offered him during the recap. 

“Music City, USA!!” He called, the crowd responding in kind. “Let me introduce you to a friend of mine…” he raised the chair. “STEELY DAN!” 

Again the crowd roared approval, for the name and the musical reference. “And tonight, Steely Dan and I are both a little bent out of shape,” he continued, showing off the dented seat. “and that is because of one man, and his name is The Miz!” Boos echoed through the building. “So last week, me and Steely Dan had a really good time lighting up the Miz and his cronies! 

“And I think it’s a Good Day for a Bad Idea, and I got a REALLY bad idea - Hey Miz!” Dean brandished the chair in warning. “Why don’t you bring your two boys out here and we pick up right where we left off from last week! Right here! Right now!!”

The crowd had no complaints, shouting and screaming in approval. He turned to the entranceway, waiting for the music to kick in. Nothing. Dean impatiently set up “Steely Dan” and had a seat, waving to the entrance. Still nothing.

“No?” Dean was disappointed. “What’s the matter Miz, Curtis Axel and Bo Dallas not enough backup for ya?” He shrugged. “Why doncha bring your personal stylist out here? Bring your publicist!” his leg started to bounce as frustration escalated in his voice. “Bring the whole cast of that terrible Christmas movie you starred in!” He started shouting. “Bring the whole gang!” Dean finally stood and stomped around the ring. “LINE EM ALL UP AND I’LL KNOCK EM ALL DOWN CAUSE I’M IN NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE AND I’M LOOKING FOR A FIGHT!!!”

To Dean, it didn’t matter what city he’d recite this speech - this was his life, this was his bread and butter, this was his popcorn and beer. Didn’t matter if it was 25 people or 25,000 - a fight, a beer, a laugh. Is that too much to ask? He just wanted some Miz prints on his knuckles and didn’t understand why saying Miz’s name three times didn’t bring HIM out. 

Ambrose, not the patient type for a fight, gathered Steely Dan. “Ok Miz, if you don’t wanna bring your ass out here right now - come on out here, I’ll bust your Hollywood bubble so fast your ass’ll wake up on ‘The Real World’ when you wake up!”  _ There, that’s the taunt.  _ Dean continued pacing the ring, blue eyes locked on the entranceway, hands itching and Steely Dan wanting to join in.

The stage flashed to life, not with red carpets and fake paparazzi or the demand for quiet on the set. The screens flashed in blacks and grays, static and gunsights flickering and bouncing in a frenetic attempt to find what target it sought. Definitely not Miz’s style; this was the march and signature of Seth Rollins, surprisingly smiling at Dean. He didn’t stop to pose, not breaking stride as he heard the cheers and some fangirly screams as he continued to the ring, undeterred by a crazy man holding a dented chair in his hand. Seth snagged a microphone but didn’t take his eyes off Dean, amused that this lunatic was still out here talking. He did take note that Dean wouldn’t meet his gaze, instead looking at the chair as if asking it for advice.

“Ambrose, what’re you doing out here, man?” Seth asked, incredulous. “Why are you picking a fight you can’t win on your own?” 

Dean didn’t answer the question with words; he gave Rollins a resigned stare, knowing that Seth would talk him into submission. “No no no no, hold on, look, you’ve been all over the place! Last week, you came out and told me to stay out of your business, you told me not to fight your battles, and then you come out at the end of the night swinging this chair around -” he pointed accusingly at Steely Dan - “like a madman! It looked like you were fighting MY battles.”

Ambrose’s expression only grew more confused. He was astounded at Seth’s supposition that he and Steely Dan beat up Miz and company to save Mr. Skinny Jeans? He already explained this. 

“I’m just saying,” Seth continued, “I appreciate your toughness, but I think you oughta calm down, take a deep breath, and come up with a better plan, y’know?”

Obviously, Seth Rollins had completely forgotten who he was talking to. “Of course!” Dean agreed sarcastically, “Come up with a better plaaaan, Mister ‘plaaaan’, Mister ‘Architect’!” the sarcasm vanished. “Look, that’s your thing, that’s not my thing.” 

Seth brushed his hair back, not quite ready for Dean’s retort. “Look, I just go where my mood takes me and last week, I was in the mood to whack the Miz and his cronies with a steel chair like, 176 times, alright? You just happened to be in the area!”  _ And you would have gotten a swing from me if you got in my way,  _ Dean thought.

Seth half-listened, arms crossed. 

“Truth is, Seth, and this may come as a surprise to you, but not everything’s  _ about  _ you.” A few ooh’s and ahh’s from the crowd caught Seth in the heart. “This is MY battle, so scram, and go find your own!”

“Hey, hey,” Seth held up a hand to back Dean off. “I’m not out here to fight your battles, I’m not out here to tell you what to do.”

_ I’ve heard THAT one before,  _ Dean thought as his grip tightened on Steely Dan.

“I’m not even out here to pick a fight!” Seth admitted. Dean didn’t believe that, either.

“I’m only out here because the Miz involved me in this when his - his little glam squad decided to attack me! What I’m out here for, Dean, is to ask you a question.”

_ That only took a few hundred words,  _ Dean mentally added. 

Seth pulled himself to his full height, shoulders back. “When I take the fight to the Miz, and I will,  _ brother, _ will you be standing in my way… or will you be standing by my side?” 

Seth knew this would be the only way he could get through to Dean. Face to face. No mind games, no phone calls, no frills. He knew exactly where the button was to get Dean to pay attention to what he was asking, even if Seth still wasn’t asking straight up. Seth knew  _ he  _ couldn’t face Miz and company alone, and he knew Dean couldn’t either. This would be the best way, wouldn’t it? 

“It’s all I wanna know,” Seth finished.

Dean’s face faded to a stoic, neutral mask, though his blue eyes seemed to glimmer at the request. Seth took note of that as Dean raised the mic instead of the chair.

Dean scratched his sideburns in an attempt to think. Yes, a word did register in the last few dozen Seth just poured out. He tried to tune out the sudden break of “Yes Yes Yes!” chants. What were they so happy about? 

“...I’m sorry, did you say ‘Brother’?” Dean asked, making sure that was the word he was stuck on.

“Come on,” Seth backpedaled, “You know I didn’t mean -”

“‘Brother’?” Dean repeated indignantly. “I ain’t your brother.” Dean started to pace, eyes locked on Rollins. “My ‘brothers’ were in the Shield!” 

The name of the notorious faction only riled up the crowd again. “MY brothers,” Dean interrupted Seth before another excuse came out, “fought with me in the trenches! I TRUSTED my brothers!” 

Seth tried to keep his cool. He wished that Finn had given him guidance on what to do when Dean starts coming unglued. “How many times -”

“My Brothers had my back!” Dean shouted Seth down. “My Brothers STOOD for somethin!” Dean wasn’t about to fall into that trap again no matter what Goldfeather told him. At least if something’s gonna go down, he had a lot more trust in Steely Dan than Suckup Sellout in front of him. 

“You,” Dean verbally stabbed Seth. “I don’t know ‘you’.” His blue eyes smoldered, pushing Seth’s gaze aside. “I knew a guy who looked a lot like you, once. He was a liar, a cheater, the kinda guy who would stab his Brothers in the back- in fact, that guy,” Ambrose finally turned away for a second to show off Steely Dan, “took a chair just like this one…”

Dean had the nightmare replaying in his mind. The first chairshot stunned and staggered Roman, dropping him to the ropes, almost lifeless. It ran in slow motion in his mind as the ring of the chair had echoed in his ears, Dean initially thinking they had been jumped from behind. He saw Seth with a chair in his hand, expression cold and dark, almost DARING Dean to do something about it. He remembered lunging forward, only to have that chair buried in his midsection, then over, and over and over and over on his back. He saw Reigns struck once more before one of the blows caught him in the back of the head, rendering him unconscious from being caught completely off-guard, and too hurt to defend his brother who would have taken a bullet for him and this other dude who Sold Out on them.

“Took a chair just like this one,” Dean accused, “and stabbed me right through my back and right through my heart!” 

“AND THAT WAS OVER THREE YEARS AGO, ALRIGHT??” Seth finally erupted in Dean’s face, infuriated because he didn’t need that reminder. “AND YOU KNOW WHAT??  **I’M SORRY!”**

Dean seemed to take delight in seeing the hard-nosed, ever-planning Seth Rollins finally lose his cool. Maybe Seth was even groveling a bit? He made faces at Seth as he struggled to regain his composure. He hoped St. Michael was watching this!

Seth had one hand over his mouth, head lowered. He knew deep down that he just wanted to punch Dean for getting that far under his skin. Dean would hold that over him just as hard as  that night. He turned back to Dean and met that smoldering gaze. 

“And you know what? I never said that before, so I’m gonna say it again. I’m Sorry.” Seth’s dark eyes melted into an almost childlike guilt. Why hadn’t he said it before? He should have said it when he got back. Maybe he should have said it before Mania. He realized if he had said something sooner, maybe they wouldn’t be at this point. 

Dean took this second iteration a little more seriously. He lowered the chair so he could listen to what else Seth might have to say.

“IF you think I’d forgotten about that,” Rollins continued indignantly, “I live with that every single day of my life! I remember that! But you know what else I remember?” He kept his eyes locked with Dean’s. “I also remember you and I tearing each other apart in Hell in a Cell!  I Remember YOU,” Seth pointed into Dean’s face, “Cashing in your Money in the Bank contract and beating me for the WWE Championship.” 

The crowd showed appreciation for this trip down memory lane. Dean debated if this was an addition to the apology or a left-handed comment against it.

 

“But all that,” Seth concluded, “All that we’re talking about here - that’s in the past! This is the Then and Now! I’ve moved on, what’s it gonna take for you to move on, man?”

Dean’s poker face completely covered the replaying of events in the Lunatic’s mind. Seth already knew that Ambrose loved fighting, and it didn’t matter who it was. Dean had said it himself, he didn’t care about odds, didn’t care about injuries, he just wanted to throw hands and lock up to keep getting stronger. Chasing and fighting Seth had made them both stronger. He turned away to put the pieces together; three years with and without him, winning championships, fighting him, watching the slight paranoia in Seth’s eyes every time they passed each other in the hall.  _ Was  _ it time to turn it back around? Spots don’t change that easily on anyone. The “Hug it out!” chant had broken out; that gave Dean an odd feeling, almost compelling him to address his former brother in arms.

“Y’know, I see your lips moving, but I don’t hear nothin.” Dean continued to maintain a neutral expression but he wasn’t gonna shout Seth down if he had more to say.

“All right,” Seth replied before raising the mic again, “You know what? You don’t wanna trust me, you don’t wanna listen to what I’m saying? I’ll let my actions speak for me, then.”  _ Just like you’ve always asked us, Dean,  _ Seth thought to himself as he stepped forward and pawed at Steely Dan.

“You got that? You got that little chair right in your hand?” Seth lowered his head and turned away. He stood with his back fully exposed to Dean, just as Dean’s back had been wide open three years ago.

“Do it!” Seth flatly requested. He heard Dean scoff. “No, no - Do It!! Hit me!” He stuck his left arm straight out in challenge, keeping the mic tightly to his mouth. “If that’s what it’s gonna make you feel better, hit me!” He stretched out his right arm, showing no defense against any onslaught Ambrose could conjure. 

Dean nodded, admittedly impressed that Seth, despite his spineless actions, had enough backbone to actually make such an offer. He glanced around to the audience, soaking in their thoughts on the matter and looking for whoever Seth had recruited to back him up.

Seth waited. The crowd only grew louder at the anticipation. Dean just looked around at their indecision, yet to raise the chair again. Just hitting Seth a few dozen times might make him feel better, but did that really solve his problem? Beating trust into someone didn’t feel remotely familiar. The crowd wasn’t helping.

Seth risked a look over his shoulder to see Dean surveying the audience. Was he not taking this seriously? He raised the mic again to get the distracted Dean’s attention.

“DO IT, DAMMIT!!” Seth screamed into the mic, turning his back again to Ambrose. “HIT ME AS MANY TIMES AS YOU NEED TO TO GET THIS OUTTA YOUR SYSTEM! DO IT RIGHT, AND DO IT RIGHT NOW!  **HIT ME, DAMMIT!”** Seth hurled the mic out of the ring and again spread both arms, back completely exposed for Dean and Steely Dan to do whatever they needed to do.

Dean raised his metal partner to his shoulder, the temptation rising. The instant gratification of watching Seth writhe on the mat, screaming and begging for mercy looked and sounded really good, but again he hesitated. Seth gave him an order. That’s not trust. That’s not brotherhood. That assumption that Dean would jump at Seth’s demand soured Dean’s thirst for revenge. He slowly backed up, leaning on Steely Dan and waiting for advice. 

No. Dean didn’t want this. Steely Dan wasn’t helping. He glanced back and forth to them before throwing Steely Dan out of the ring in frustration. This wasn’t the answer. The question was about trust, not pain! He leaned on the ropes, mind only getting louder with the crowd. Turning back to Seth, Dean kept one hand wrapped around the top rope to keep him from just storming over and punching Seth clean out of his boots. That wouldn’t fix the problem either but it might get a lot quieter real quick.

Seth peeked over his right shoulder, puzzling the sound of the chair bouncing off the mat and clattering to the floor. He puzzled Dean’s stance even more. Isn’t this what Dean wanted? Dean likes to physically fight his way through a problem, where was that physicality? Ambrose’s expression only confused the Kingslayer further.

“You think it’s that simple?” Dean asked away from the microphone stashed in his pocket. “That’s gonna make this all okay?” 

Seth didn’t get a chance to respond. The mock-applause of the Miz, hidden under the blare of his music, only rankled Dean more. He could see the Intercontinental Champion and his two flunkies all dressed up for something other than a fight. “What a scene,” Miz mockingly appraised. “Two former brothers in arms on an emotional precipice working out deep-seeded issues on a long standing betrayal! It is touching!” The A-lister dressed up Seth and Dean’s conversation into something out of some sort of dramatic stage play? Dean started pacing as Seth turned his attentions to the stage, arms folded in blatant impatience.

“I mean,” Miz continued in a horrible hillbilly accent, “It could be a country song!” 

Dean paced, bored already. Seth couldn’t hide a smirk at Miz’s attempt at humor.

“But it’s not gonna work,” Miz continued in a normal voice, “It’s a waste of time! Seth, he’s never gonna forgive you! If you burn a bridge in this business, it is a  _ major  _ no-no. 

“And plus, he’s the ‘Lunatic Fringe’, the same ‘Lunatic Fringe’ that I’ve owned for months! Don’t believe me? Extreme Rules, Miz Wins!”

Dean continued to pace, knowing Miz likes the sound of his own voice. Dean also decided he was a little more upset with Miz right now.

“Great Balls of Fire! Miz Wins!” The A-lister continued. “Dean, you don’t have the wrestling ability or technical skill to beat me!”

Ambrose clasped his hands together and begged Miz to come to the ring and back up those words. Sadly, Miz kept talking. “You don’t have what it takes to do it all on your own!”

“There was three of you and I still don’t care!” Dean shouted back without a mic.

“You’re so predictable,” Miz lamented as Bo Dallas and Curtis Axel marched to the ring, “I knew you’d come out here, create a spectacle, calling me out Live! Opening up Monday Night Raw!”

Bo and Axel started to circle the ring; that didn’t escape Dean’s notice, he didn’t need his eyes to hear Miz droning on. 

“So I decided to prepare a ‘Welcoming Party’ for you!” Miz pointed to the ring. “But Hey! Now, I get two for the price of one!”

Dean locked on Miz while Seth glanced back, recognizing the tactic immediately. Bo on the floor on the opposite side of the ring from Miz, Axel to Seth’s right, both waiting patiently for a cue from their meal ticket. Perhaps a little too familiar for the Kingslayer. That, and something else on the edge of his senses…

“See, you just react to things, Dean! There’s no strategy!” Miz continued to stroll to the ring. “And I might not be an Architect,” he said as he turned his attention to Rollins, “but gentlemen…”

Miz gestured to the ring, and his associates reached under the aprons for chairs. Seth braced for the incoming attack while Dean kept staring at Miz. The A-lister casually dropped his mic and the Intercontinental title to the floor and removed his jacket, meeting Dean’s eyes with a strange calm. Dean didn’t like it. Something didn’t look right, something didn’t feel right. He made the mistake of turning away to see if Seth had dialed in to this, allowing Miz a moment to gather a weapon of his own- the previously discarded Steely Dan. 

Dean puzzled the start of a “Roman!” chant.  _ What could Roman do at this point?  _ Dean thought through the noise in his head. _ He’s got his own problems.  _  When he turned back around to see Miz holding Steely Dan hostage, he charged. Seth bolted in the opposite direction to attack Bo. 

Dean tried to isolate Miz on the floor but ended up with Steely Dan in his midsection. “Traitor,” he growled as the chair continued to cooperate with Miz. He couldn’t get his legs back under him as the chair was cast aside and Miz threw Dean into the ring steps.

Seth was even less fortunate. Unable to knock Bo off the ring apron, he tumbled back to the middle of the ring and underfoot of the Miztourage. Chair shots and stomps rained down on him until Miz joined them in the ring. Miz ordered Dallas to set up one of the chairs while Rollins continued to writhe on the mat. 

“Now pick him up!” Miz demanded. Bo and Axel hauled Seth to his feet and pushed him backward for Miz to wrap up. A sweep of the leg and Rollins’ head rang off the waiting chair, a Skull-crushing Finale for the wounded Architect. He actually savored Seth’s faint cry before collapsing nearby from the blow. Miz remained on his knees for a few extra seconds, a strange rush flowing through him for taking care of these two. His partners flanked him, standing proud as their leader pushed back to his feet and tapped fists with them. 

“We’re done here,” Miz announced to Axel and Dallas, “Take the chairs with you.” 

The Miztourage gathered their weapons and exited the ring. Miz himself climbed out after them, pausing to gather Steely Dan from where it landed- out of Dean Ambrose’s reach. Miz used the chair to motion his minions up the ramp while he and Steely Dan added an exclamation point to Dean’s back. Miz gathered his title and backed away from the downed Dean, making sure they wouldn’t be followed by either of them.

Seth hadn’t stirred in the ring. Dean continued to spasm on the floor, plotting revenge if ever gets his hands on Steely Dan…


End file.
